The Aftermath
by Kelvindalegirl
Summary: After the wedding
1. Chapter 1

**THE AFTERMATH**

Chapter 1

Ten months had come and gone since the wedding. Strike couldn't believe how fast time had passed, particularly at work. They were just about managing, he and Robin, to cover all their cases satisfactorily. But if the phone calls and appointments kept on coming at the same pace, he might need to start looking for another investigator. Or at least a part-timer.

Not that Strike was complaining as far as his bank balance was concerned. He was beginning to think about renting a bigger flat, but he was not sure of which district to move to. Although his current abode left a lot to be desired, living over the shop was very convenient. It would be hard to give that up.

Robin's salary had increased to reflect her new status as a partner and she was more than earning her keep. She was really thriving as far as investigative work was concerned, picking up the new skills required very easily. On top of this, she still made sure all the administration was up to date, a part of the business which Strike was very relieved he could leave in her capable hands. He trusted her implicitly.

Yes, business was good and Strike was financially stable which he hadn't been in a long time. And yet…..

And yet, what? He wasn't happy, not really. When was he last "happy"? He couldn't really remember. There was always something wrong in his life. Strike surmised that he had long ago accepted that happiness was just never going to happen for him, just like millions of other people.

Most of his adult life had been spent with Charlotte. He had loved her deeply, but in hindsight he couldn't say he ever felt settled and content in their relationship. The highs with Charlotte could be extremely high, but that came at a price: the deepest low points. It seemed like every morning he would wake and wonder which version of Charlotte he would have to deal with that day. It had been so exhausting and Strike just couldn't live that life anymore. The final lie, huge and desperate, was really just the final straw of many straws. It was time for it to end. More than time. Strike still sometimes felt profoundly sad when he pondered that previous life in his spare evening hours or when he was dropping off to sleep, as he was now. However, such episodes were becoming less and less. Something, or rather someone else had entered and now firmly inhabited his thoughts. More and more each day, relentlessly.

"Oh fuck this", Strike murmured to himself as he turned over. He had to stop his mind wandering and concentrate on getting some sleep.

Robin didn't think much about the wedding anymore, but when she did, she still found it so bizarre that Matthew was the one who had stopped it. He had been livid at seeing Strike at the back of the church. However, he was already feeling confused and angry that Robin appeared to be on autopilot at her own wedding. Going through the motions without the hint of a smile or even some nerves, as would be expected. She should be ecstatic, joyful, glowing even, not frowning and giving the impression of being a million miles away!

At the sight of Strike, Matthew just couldn't remain silent any longer. He had no thought for the congregation, waiting on tenterhooks for the vows to be complete and the traditional kiss to be exchanged. Even though Robin had said "I do", Matthew immediately blurted out, "Stop!" Realising the abruptness of his outburst, he hastily added, "Sorry Reverend, can we pause this a minute? Robin, please can we talk? In private? Just a few minutes?" He could sense the pleading in his own voice and felt a twitch of embarrassment. But he persisted, feeling desperate to remove them both from this slow motion disaster. "Please Robin."

Matthew took Robin's hand and led her away towards the door leading to the sacristy, hundreds of pairs of eyes following them as they went. The Reverend quietly descended the steps from the altar, made his way to the sacristy and closed the door behind them. He quickly moved into an adjoining room to give the couple space to talk privately. This wasn't the first time he had had to deal with wedding nerves and doubts. Couples usually sorted things out after a few minutes of discussion and normal service then resumed. He told Matthew and Robin to take their time and call him back when they were ready.

"Robin, what is wrong with you? Are you feeling OK?"

"I'm so sorry Matt. My… my head is all over the place. It doesn't seem real, does it? All the preparation for this day and then when it finally arrives, it's just like… I don't know, like…. like watching two other people getting married." Robin paused. "Oh God, that sounds really crazy, you must think I've lost it."

"Robin, this is our wedding day for God's sake. We've planned this for months, years even. I know we had a wobble, which was totally my fault and I so wish I could change all that, I really do. But don't you want this?"

Robin was wringing her hands. "It must just be nerves getting the better of me. Just give me five minutes, honestly Matt. The enormity of it has just hit me, or….. or something."

Robin couldn't help herself, but even she realised the more she babbled on, the worse it got. Could she really admit that she felt a real sense of dread at the thought of being finally tied to Matthew? For the rest of her life? That she felt panic at the prospect of the dream house in the suburbs and the 2.4 kids, which would surely come? That although she HAD wanted all that before, something had profoundly changed?

Matthew was now staring at some indeterminate point on the wall. Robin wasn't normally fazed by much and her reactions today were really so out of character. He could no longer ignore what was staring him in the face. THAT face, now looming large in his imagination. That battered face. That face which had seemingly appeared from nowhere and pushed over those silly flowers. Was it deliberate? That face which he really wanted to punch, now more than ever. His loathing of Strike rose up in his throat and Matthew couldn't contain it.

"And what the hell is HE doing here?" Matthew spat out, flinging out his arm in the vague direction of the door leading to the main church, trying to keep his voice down for fear of carrying through to the expectant guests. "Don't you remember he fired you and just left you in tears after all your hard work? And now he turns up as though nothing had happened. What's all that about?"

Matthew was now pacing around in no particular direction, as though literally searching for answers. None of this made any sense. Their lives had been just fine before HE turned up. He suddenly stopped and faced Robin again.

"Has he been calling you again?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Robin's thoughts at that moment were so chaotic that she didn't really register what Matthew had said. She replied, "No. No, he hasn't been calling me at all. The last time I spoke to him was at the flat, when I was 'sacked'". There was a heavy, facetious tone added to her last word. "And anyway, we invited Cormoran to come. I wasn't exactly calling him up to withdraw the invitation, was I? We've had a lot more important things to deal with Matt."

Now Robin was pacing the floor. Why HAD Cormoran come to the wedding? It wasn't just around the corner or across town. He had to travel hundreds of miles. Robin had to concede she was thrilled to see him, but she certainly wasn't expecting it. Maybe, this was his way of reconnecting, apologising perhaps, in person? Was it possible he might ask her to come back to work? Oh, how she longed for that. But, hang on….

"Matt, did you just ask if he was calling me again? Again? What do you mean?" asked Robin in bewilderment.

Matthew had been clutching the back of a chair. He knew what he had said, but was desperately hoping that Robin hadn't noticed. Too late. His face started to redden and he couldn't bring himself to look into Robin's eyes now searching for his. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came, as if his conscience was stopping the inevitable lie from tripping out.

Robin was now oblivious to the guests waiting next door. Something didn't add up. "Has he been calling you again?" she repeated in her mind. Matthew had definitely put stress on "again". Cormoran must have called Robin. But why didn't she get the call and how could Matthew have known about it? A certain part of her was suddenly excited at the thought of Cormoran contacting her. But at the same time, a feeling of apprehension was building at the question which now hovered on her lips. She was almost afraid to ask.

"Matt, did you answer my phone? Did Cormoran call me and you answered it?"

No answer came, but that was answer in itself.

"Matt,…"

"Alright, yes. Yes, he tried to call you and it went to answerphone," Matthew blurted out.

"So, why didn't I get the voicemail?"

Again, Matthew didn't want to answer. "Why didn't I get the voicemail?" asked Robin more forcefully.

"I….., I deleted it." said Matthew. "It was only days before the wedding and I didn't want him upsetting you again. I did it to protect you Robin, that's all. That's all it was. Can't you see that?"

Robin couldn't see anything except the stained glass in the windows, didn't know what to believe, didn't know WHO to believe. At that moment, she felt as though everyone in her life was conspiring against her, to trample all over her feelings, all over her desires, all over what SHE wanted.

Robin took some deep breaths and managed to keep her voice calm as she asked, "Did this happen at the service station? Yeah, I remember now. I thought you were behaving a bit oddly just then. And I noticed later that my call history was gone. I couldn't understand it at the time, but…"

Matthew somehow felt encouraged by Robin's composed questioning. "Yes, that's when it happened. Please Robin. I know it seems like an awful thing to do, but he had really hurt you and I wasn't going to let him hurt you again. Please…can we just get on with this now?" pleaded Matthew.

Robin stood for a full minute, continuing to breathe deeply. Then she spoke very quietly and evenly. "No. No, I can't do that Matt. I can't do this. It's over, finished. This, us, it's all over now. Sorry, but…., well, I can't go back from this." Her mind was suddenly very clear. This was not what she wanted.

Strike was in that vague consciousness between dozing and sleeping. Where thoughts and dreams are not quite real, but also very real at the same time. He was back in the Masham church again. He had attempted to lift up the fallen flowers and replace them in their arrangement, but failed miserably. He was all fingers and thumbs.

The bride and groom had disappeared out of sight, presumably into the inner sanctum usually reserved for the minister. Of course Strike had witnessed Matthew's abrupt halting of the proceedings and subsequent retreat from the altar with Robin. After a while, the minister had come out again, spoken quietly to Mrs Ellacott and then accompanied Linda back into the sacristy. Strike was extremely curious to know what was going on behind closed doors. So were dozens of other people, all seated in front of him. Several of those individuals were also very curious about Strike, and turned around periodically to scrutinize him. Not all of those inspections appeared to meet with much approval.

Strike wasn't ashamed to admit to himself that he wished the wedding was indeed cancelled. He was convinced that Robin had been railroaded into this wedding, swept along on a path which she didn't feel confident enough to deviate from. A path which she was expected to follow. Matthew was a complete arsehole and in no way deserved to have Robin as his wife. He never deserved her as a girlfriend, never mind a wife. Robin was intelligent, independent, she was great at engaging with people, she had a loving and kind nature, an infectious laugh, she was even obstinate to the point of exasperation sometimes. And, she was bloody gorgeous! (Not that this was least on the list of her qualities, Strike quickly added to himself.)

Matthew was handsome, there was no doubt. But in Strike's experience, most women were not attracted by looks alone and placed much more value on character, kindness and humour. Of course, there were some women who would always be swayed by money or looks. Strike had met plenty of those type in his profession, but Robin was not of that ilk at all. Not even remotely. So why did she remain with Matthew? Even after he had cheated on her? Christ, Strike would love to have a go at that "handsome" face right now. If only his hand wasn't hurting so much…

But, there was no time to pursue that final thought any further. Linda had reappeared, but was alone. She stood on the edge of the altar stairs, gulped heavily a few times and then began to speak. The assembled guests were deathly quiet.

"Erm, I'm very sorry for the long wait everyone. I don't quite know how to say this. Robin and Matthew wish me to inform you that the wedding will not be proceeding any further. They have asked me to pass on their sincere apologies for the inconvenience." Linda paused for a moment. "Of course, this is a big shock and I don't have much more to tell you right now, except to apologise again. I hope you can all make your way home alright. If anyone needs help with transport, just ask one of the family who will be glad to help. Thanks very much."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When Strike awoke the next morning, he was grateful it was Saturday. He could turn over and doze for a while longer, safe in the knowledge that he wasn't obliged to be anywhere. Strike wasn't fond of mornings. His brain found it hard to engage with the real world again after a sleep and he needed time to adjust. Strike always marvelled at how he had survived in the military, but he had, and he had done so extremely well. His early morning blues must have something to do with the flashbacks to the bombing incident. He often experienced these, not all of them horribly unpleasant, but still vivid enough to unsettle him at times.

Work had been relentless lately and Strike had worked a lot of Saturdays. He couldn't remember the last free one. Maybe two months ago? There were a whole list of chores which he wanted to get done today, but if he didn't manage them, there would be other days. Arsenal were also on the telly in the late afternoon. His only concrete commitment of the day was meeting up with his current lover, Kimberley, in the evening.

Strike tried to count how much time they had now been dating, which he reckoned was around six months. God, that had passed really quickly. It only seemed like yesterday when they had fallen into bed for the first time. Strike had met Kimberley through her sister Lauren, who had been one of his clients for a while. After the successful conclusion of Strike's work, Lauren had insisted on inviting him out for a meal and drinks as an extra thank you. She had brought along Kimberley for some company too and the rest, well, the rest was history as the saying goes.

Kimberley wasn't a classic beauty in Strike's view, but she was very vivacious and attractive nonetheless. She was in her early thirties, had modern, bobbed, red hair and a good figure. She worked in events management in London and had just ended a year long relationship when she met Strike. She didn't take herself seriously at all and Strike found their romance an easy distraction. Kimberley made few demands on him, well, at least for the moment. She was a friend "with benefits". And Strike liked his benefits very much - he was a red-blooded male after all. But who knew when the intricate balance of their arrangement would change to something more binding? Tonight, they would probably attend some theatre show that Kimberley often obtained complimentary tickets for, go for food and then back to her place.

Strike got dressed and had some breakfast. He then headed for the launderette with what seemed like every stick of clothing he owned in his duffle bag. As he loaded the machine and waited for the cycle to run, this thoughts turned to Robin, and not for the first time that day. Why did he think about her as much as he did? Probably because she was the person he spent most of his time with. Only natural he supposed. He wondered what she was doing today. Nothing as mundane as laundry he hoped. She would probably be out shopping for new clothes with her hockey friends and then meeting up with her new boyfriend.

Robin had not arranged to introduce him to Strike yet. Would she, he asked himself? Introducing Matthew hadn't turned out so well, had it? Maybe Robin would think that Strike just intimidated and scared any other men away. He didn't think that the relationship had been going for very long, but he couldn't be sure. Since returning to work with him, Robin had definitely been less….. less? What was the word? Less chatty? Less sharing? Less open? Yes, maybe less open. And who could blame her?

After the cancelled wedding, Strike didn't know what to do. Should he stay and try to reach Robin to talk to her? Or should he just steal away before someone decided he was to blame? He quickly decided on the latter option and found Shanker still waiting for him outside. Shanker sensed that they should just drive away swiftly and they were well on their way on the M1 before he asked Strike what had happened. He was met with a gruff, "Wedding was cancelled. Don't ask any more.", in the way that only old friends can address each other. Once back in London, Strike felt all at sea for several days. Should he call Robin? Or should he leave it for her to call him? He couldn't decide what was best, he could hardly concentrate on his work for the next week and sleep largely eluded him.

In the end, Robin called Strike. It was five days after the wedding and her name flashed up on his mobile on Thursday evening, while he was sitting at his office desk. He grabbed the phone. "Robin…."

The alarm clock seemed to be screaming at Robin from her bedside table. Time to get up. But wasn't this Saturday? Why had she set her alarm anyway? She must have been on automatic pilot. She reached over and turned it off with a great sense of relief. A free day, at last. Robin looked around at her room in the shared house in Tooting. It looked a mess, months' worth of mess and she really needed to sort it out. Today would be the day.

The period after the failed wedding hadn't been easy at all. Well, what did she expect? Everyone wanted explanations, answers, reasons. Even her parents, who loved her unconditionally and would have moved heaven and earth for her, they were due some answers even if they did not immediately press for them. Linda took over the practical side of things and systematically contacted hotel managers, caterers, musicians and the like to cancel what remaining arrangements she could. The cancellation wasn't really the issue, more the payment for the cancelled services. Luckily, Linda was able to negotiate discounted prices or partial refunds for most of it. Most suppliers were very sympathetic, as though they dealt with such disappointments on a daily basis. The many wedding gifts which had been lying around had magically disappeared too, back to their original donors. The marital juggernaut had been stopped, just in time.

Robin's father didn't appear to care about the money anyway, he only showed concern for Robin and how she was. He remembered in great detail the period after Robin's attack, when she was room-bound and housebound, afraid and broken. He felt so powerless to help her, his beautiful little girl, violated by a monster. His natural reaction was to find that monster and kill him, make him feel pain and lots of it. He had told Robin he would do this. Just say the word and he and Robin's brothers would find a way to do it. But sense prevailed. Robin literally wouldn't survive such added stress and it was left to Linda to convince the Ellacott men that two wrongs didn't make a right. What would be gained by all of them ending up in prison, for God's sake? That didn't help Robin. She needed her Dad and big brothers around her. No, justice must be pursued properly, under the law, as it eventually was.

In what seemed like a repeat of a bad dream, Robin did remain in her room for three days after the fiasco at the church. She didn't cry and she didn't appear to be upset, Linda noticed. She just seemed to be deeply pre-occupied, as though trying to fathom out some incalculable equation. Linda thought it best to leave her be with occasional deliveries of food and drink to her bedroom. Robin would reveal herself when she was ready and Linda sensed this wouldn't be too long.

Of course, Matthew was hanging around like a bad smell. Having time off for the now cancelled honeymoon, he was free to visit the Ellacott family home at least once a day, begging to see Robin. All such requests were denied on Robin's strict instructions, although both her parents and brothers always tried to let Matthew down gently. He even tried standing outside Robin's window, shouting up, pleading for an audience. She heard him, but simply moved into her parent's bedroom until she was sure he had gone. Robin had lost count of the number of missed calls, voicemails and texts which Matthew had left on her phone. Hundreds. She listened to and read some of them, but there was only one call she wanted.

She had quickly discovered that Strike's number had been blocked, no surprise there, and she rectified that status immediately. In fact, she marked Strike as a "favourite" just above the unblocking button. Robin then waited, pondered, considered, analysed, in a loop, continually. Should she call Strike? Or should she leave it for him to call her? He had travelled all the way to the wedding, so she should probably call him. But then, their last exchange had contained the words "gross misconduct". Mmm, but his number had been blocked and maybe he had been trying to call her numerous times? But then again, maybe he hadn't. After a few days, Robin did appear from her room and joined the family for meals and watching telly in the evenings. But she still couldn't decide what to do. Eventually, she resolved that she should take the bull by the horns. She had nothing to lose now. Make the call, she chided herself. Make the call. Thursday evening would be a good time she thought, not Friday when Strike might be at the pub, not tonight when he might be….. well, tonight was just too soon. She needed time to rehearse. "Oh bugger", she thought.

Thursday came slowly and Robin felt a dual feeling of excitement and dread. Like asking someone on a date and wondering if it would be yes or no. After dinner, Robin went to her room and settled herself on the bed. She took a deep breath and pressed "Cormoran" on her phone. It started to ring, but only once. Then a familiar, deep voice simply said, "Robin…."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Robin…"

"Hi Cormoran," said Robin hesitantly.

"Hi. Are you ok? Sorry, that's a stupid question, of course you're probably not ok." Strike had to take a deep breath to himself. Is that all he could think to say?

"No it's fine, really, I think I'm alright actually," said Robin.

"Good. I wanted to call you, I've been thinking about it all week, but I wasn't sure if it was the right time, y'know, what with everything at your end."

"It's ok. I wanted to call you too, but I've had a lot to think about these past few days. It's been a bit…. difficult," Robin trailed off.

"Yeah, I can imagine. Well, sort of. Anyway, are you really ok? You don't need to tell me anything if you don't want to talk about it. But as long as you're alright?" Strike tried to keep his tone concerned, not intrusive, but guessed he was probably failing miserably.

"Well, I don't know what to say really. I think I nearly got married by default!" Robin said with a small, nervous laugh. "The whole thing was a daze and then Matt stopped the ceremony. Well, you would have seen that. I was so pleased you came by the way. I was really surprised. I thought, well, I thought….. I don't know. I just didn't expect to see you. How did you get up here from London?"

"Oh, Shanker. He drove me up, believe it or not. He's gonna charge me a fucking fortune for it when I get some money together."

Robin laughed quite heartily for a few seconds and Strike laughed back. He always found her laughter infectious. There was then a short pause before Robin continued. "Listen, I found out that you called me last week. I didn't see the call. Matt saw it and deleted it. We had stopped at a service station and I was in the ladies at the time. I'm so sorry about that. I really didn't know you had called and I would have phoned you back, y'know."

"Hey, don't worry about that. It's not your fault." What a fucking wanker Matthew was, Strike thought to himself. "How did you discover that?"

"Well, I found out when we were talking in the sacristy. Matt said something a bit weird about you calling me and then he spilled the beans about what he had done. He deleted your call and all my call history and he even blocked your number! I was actually quite calm when he confessed, but thinking about it now, it makes me really furious. Anyway, after I heard that, I just knew that we couldn't go on. It should never have gotten that far, the wedding. I should have known after the Sarah Shadlock thing. I was stupid not to cancel everything then. But I was swept along on the whole wedding frenzy I suppose." God I am rambling on, thought Robin. Cormoran isn't interested in all this.

"What's Matthew saying about it all?" As if I care, Strike said inwardly.

Robin chuckled nervously. "Well he really can't stand you, that's for sure. When he saw you in the church, he was so mad. That's really why he stopped it all."

"Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. Well, I am glad you didn't marry him, but I wasn't trying to sabotage your wedding or anything." Was Strike trying to convince himself?

"Are you really glad it didn't happen?" Robin asked softly.

"Yeah, I am actually. Matthew's a complete, fucking tosser if you ask me. You're too good for him. Always were. Sorry I don't mean to upset you by saying that, but Matthew and I, we never liked each other." Strike was relieved he could express his true feelings about Matthew, for once.

"No, you never did, did you? Anyway, Matt has been calling and texting and coming to the house asking for another chance and trying to talk me round again. I do feel a bit sorry for him, but I don't want my life with him anymore. I'm really sure about that now." Robin punched her hand into the bedcovers, as if rubber stamping her decision.

Strike paused a little, not sure what to say. "Well, if that's what you really want, then… I'm pleased for you Robin. Really."

"Well… thanks. I guess?"

"Don't mention it." They both laughed together.

Robin's nerves had now disappeared and she was desperate to know about everything she had missed. "But listen Cormoran, what happened to you? I'm just dying to hear all about the case. And are YOU ok? You looked pretty beaten up."

"Yeah, broken nose - again - my ear was nearly sliced off and I was slashed across my hand and my back. But nothing serious."

"Nothing serious?" Robin nearly shouted down the phone. "Jesus, Cormoran! You were nearly killed by the sounds of it. That's awful. I hope you were treated in the hospital? You'd better had. I know what you're like," she said scoldingly.

"Ok, calm down," said Strike. "Yes, I was taken to hospital and all sorted. All straightened up and sewn up. I was hoping that my nose might be punched straight again one of these days."

"Oh God no, don't say that," pleaded Robin. "A broken nose sounds like the worst thing ever."

"It's not nice, but hey, there are worse things. You should have seen the other guy."

"Who was it? Tell me now Cormoran! All of it! And don't leave anything out."

So Strike recounted the whole story, right from staying up all night and wandering the streets after his argument with Robin, to his and Shanker's violent struggle with Laing and thereafter to the hospital for treatment and interrogation by the police. He made sure he emphasised that his advertisement for a new assistant was bogus and part of the plan to fool Laing and divert him away from Robin. At the other end of the phone, Robin listened intently and regularly interjected with exclamations of "Really?", "Oh my God!", "No way!" and "Oh shit!" At the end of his blow by blow account, Strike realised he felt almost intoxicated with elation. He missed these discussions and talks enormously. He missed his partner, his friend.

"Oh I wish I had been there. I feel like I have missed everything!" exclaimed Robin.

"Listen, I'm glad you WEREN'T here. I knew it was all going to end in a scrap, so better for you to be fucking miles away. I am NOT apologising for that!" declared Strike.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"No suppose about it Robin!"

"Ok, ok. And what are the police saying about it? Will you get the credit? Carver must be hopping mad!" said Robin.

"Haven't seen him, but he'll get what's coming to him. Wardle has been more magnanimous, shall we say. I think I'll get credit. Even if the police try to hush it up, it will surely come out. It did the previous times."

"You deserve ALL the credit Cormoran. The police hardly did anything."

"I don't deserve all the credit. I couldn't have done it without you Robin. Honestly. And that's not the first time I've said that!"

"Well, you know how much I love the job Cormoran. This one was more than a bit hairy at times I admit, but I still love it." Did that sound as though she was fishing for her job back, thought Robin. No! That's not how she wanted this conversation to go.

"I know that Robin."

Right, it was time to say what he really wanted to say. "Look, when I called last week, I wanted to ask you…. Would you come back? To work? With me?" asked Strike tentatively. He could hear Robin's intake of breath.

"But….. but what about gross misconduct? What about Brockbank? What about your new assistant?" Robin heard her own voice sounding anxious and started fidgeting with the duvet cover.

Strike knew he had to offer a very big olive branch. "Look, I was angry. Carver had just given me the biggest bollocking ever. He was going to finish me completely. I felt like the whole case was slipping away and frankly, the whole business was going down the toilet. I owe you an apology. I'm sorry. I did need to sack you to get you out of the way for appearances' sake. But, I was too hard on you. Sorry." He paused. "Am I forgiven?"

Robin's heart was starting to beat faster. Strike sounded genuinely humble and her words just came tumbling out. "Well, I owe you an apology too. I know I shouldn't have gone off on my own crusade. In hindsight, it was really stupid. I was carried away and I didn't think enough about the consequences."

"You did a good thing Robin. Maybe not in the right way, but it was a good thing for those kids."

"Well, I hope so. I hope it was worth it." There was a pause for a few seconds, as if Strike and Robin had both lost their trains of thought.

"Let's just call it quits, shall we?" offered Strike.

"Ok, it's a deal."

"Great. So….. will you - ?" Strike didn't have a chance to finish.

"Yes, of course I'll come back Cormoran. When can I start?" The laughter started again.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that night, Robin sent a text to Strike.

"It was great to talk today. Can't wait to come back. Rx"

A reply came back within a minute.

"Ditto." Cx

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	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It was now Sunday evening. Strike had come home late in the morning after spending the night at Kimberley's place. He had passed the rest of the day on some minor, but much needed DIY around his flat. Loose and broken handles, hinges, screws and tiles had all been neglected for far too long. After fixing these up armed with various screwdrivers, oil and sealant, Strike settled down with some pasta and sauce for dinner. He deserved some beers too, he thought, as just reward for his day's labour. He might read some case notes or see if there was any more football on the telly.

Strike had just finished his pasta, when his mobile rang. Robin's name lit up the screen.

"Hi Robin?"

"Hi there. No, I'm not Robin, I'm a friend of hers, Naomi. We're in the same hockey club. Is this, erm, Cormoran, is it?" said the strange, female voice.

"Yeah, that's me. Is everything ok?" said Strike with concern.

"Erm, well, I've got Robin's phone. Your number was in her favourites. She's been taken to hospital with a peanut allergy. We think she'll be alright, but there was a bit of a panic."

"Peanut allergy? I didn't know she had one!" exclaimed Strike. "What hospital has she been taken to?"

"St Thomas, A&E. Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah, I know it. I can be there in about, what, 15 or 20 minutes? I'm Robin's boss by the way."

"Great. See you soon. Oh, how will I know you?" added Naomi.

"Big guy, dark hair and beard, walks with a limp."

"Ok." The strange female voice giggled.

A peanut allergy, thought Strike. Christ, that's all you need. He reached for his jacket, made sure he had his wallet, keys and phone and left the flat in search of a taxi. Sunday evening traffic wasn't too bad, as Strike had thought. The taxi deposited him outside St Thomas 20 minutes later. He strode past a couple of vacant ambulances and wandered into the A&E reception area. Strike looked around the busy waiting room for any sign of Naomi. Almost immediately, a dark haired, skinny girl approached him.

"Are you…. Cormoran?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes. You must be Naomi?" Strike extended his hand, which Naomi shook in return.

"Yes. Sorry to call you out like this. I know Robin from the club, but not for that long, so I thought I should be contacting someone who was closer to her. Should I call her parents? But they're in Yorkshire, aren't they?"

"No, I wouldn't do that. Unless it's serious?" asked Strike, a worried furrow developing in his brow.

"Oh no, I think she'll be ok. The doctor doesn't seem too concerned," replied Naomi.

"Good. That's a relief."

"Listen, do you know someone called Matthew? I called him too because he was on Robin's phone as her emergency contact. He sounded a bit shocked, but he said he would come too."

"Aw fuck," said Strike before he could stop himself.

"Shit. What have I done? Sorry."

"No, don't worry, it's fine. He's Robin's ex. Could be interesting," said Strike, smiling. "Where is she? Can I see her?"

"Yeah, follow me. She was just in one of the cubicles up here." She gestured with her hand. "If you don't mind, I'll head off now and leave you guys to it?"

"Yeah, no problem."

Naomi led Strike across the reception area and pressed a buzzer on the wall beside the door leading to the A&E treatment rooms. The door opened after Naomi gave her name and they entered to find Robin sitting up on a bed in one of the cubicles. She had her eyes closed, as if in sleep.

"Robin, your boss is here. If it's ok, I'll just go now. I'll see you next week."

Robin's eyes snapped open and she looked at Strike with surprise. "Aw Naomi, no problem. Thanks so much for coming with me. You're a star." Naomi handed Robin her phone, waved and left the cubicle.

"So…. what happened to you then?" enquired Strike.

Robin didn't look as bad as Strike had feared. Her face had some evidence of swelling, her eyes looked puffy, but she was able to see ok. Perhaps her lips looked a bit larger than usual?

"I am so sorry for dragging you in here. I tried to tell Naomi that she didn't need to call anyone, but I was a bit incapacitated at the time." Robin was feeling around her face and throat. "I must be a right mess. Do I look like the elephant man?" she asked in a worried tone.

Strike smiled as he said, "No, not quite that bad."

"It was all a bit of a blur. We were having a night out for one of the hockey girl's birthday. We went for a curry and it must have had peanuts in it. I always order a korma, which never has nuts in it. It's one of the mildest ones there is! I don't know what happened there."

"I didn't know you had a peanut allergy. Don't you have one of those pen things?" asked Strike.

"An epi-pen? Yes, I usually do. But I must have left it in my other handbag. I was having a clear-out yesterday and I swapped over to another bag that I had found again. I'm normally on top of it. Sorry." Robin looked sheepishly at Strike. He moved closer to the bed and had a sudden urge to reach over and touch Robin's face, as if he could soothe it, cool her down. Stop it. You can't do that, he chastised himself. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets.

"Women and their handbags, eh? So, what do they do? Just pump you full of adrenaline, is it?"

"Yeah, I was wheeled straight in, jumped to the top of the queue. Your airways get blocked because of the swelling, so they have to get the adrenaline in quickly to get the swelling down fast."

"How do you feel now? Will they keep you in?"

"I don't think so. The doctor says the swelling is coming down ok, so, hopefully I'll be discharged soon."

Strike hesitated. "Erm Robin, I need to tell you something. When Naomi was making calls, she…."

Loud voices were suddenly audible right outside and the cubicle curtain was pulled back by a nurse. Matthew stepped inside. "Robin…" He caught sight of Strike and stopped mid-sentence. "Aw for fuck sake, why does he have to be here?"

Robin bolted up and forward on the bed, unable to believe her eyes. She looked from Strike to Matthew and back again with a look of panic. "Matt….. What…?"

Strike saw her discomfort and interjected, "I'll just go for a cigarette. Do you want anything Robin?"

"No….no thanks."

"Right, well just call me if you change your mind." Strike tilted his head towards Matthew as he said the words, indicating to Robin that he was really offering help with her errant ex, if she needed it. He also gave Matthew a piercing glare as he left, an unspoken warning clear for him to see and understand.

Strike left the A&E department and headed a sufficient distance from the front door to smoke without being reprimanded. He pulled out his Benson & Hedges packet and lit up. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did Matthew have to turn up? Surely, if he had any brains, he should have realised the call from Naomi was a mistake. Strike would have preferred to stay in the room with Robin, but some sixth sense told him to leave them together. It was up to Robin to deal with Matthew, no matter how much Strike wanted to protect her. But what a prick Matthew was. What? Did he think that Robin would suddenly fall at his feet and take him back? That despite Naomi's mistake, she would want to see him? Speak to him? No danger mate, Strike thought to himself. Robin had escaped from the cult of Matthew before and she wouldn't be stupid enough to get sucked in again. Would she?

Strike was itching to get back in. He hated the thought of that wanker in there with Robin, with his silky words and persuasive talk and touching her. Touching her? Fuck. Stop it, Strike told himself. Get a grip. He stubbed out his now finished cigarette and immediately lit up another one.

Strike stood smoking and brooding for another 10 minutes, when he saw Matthew exiting the hospital. He headed off in a hurry in the opposite direction from Strike, but it seemed clear from his deportment and haste that Matthew wasn't happy. Strike stubbed out his cigarette and immediately went back in to join Robin.

"Everything ok? Sorry, I was trying to tell you…"

"It's fine. Just one of those things. I had completely forgotten that Matthew was my emergency contact. Need to change that, obviously." Robin picked up her phone to examine it.

"Was he giving you any grief?"

"Aw, just the usual, y'know. He still thinks about me, he's so sorry, can we not try again? I've heard it all before," Robin said wearily.

"And?" enquired Strike.

"And what? There's no way I'm getting back with him. No chance!" Robin rolled her puffy eyes as if mortally offended, conscious that Strike was staring at her intently.

"Bloody glad to hear it."

The cubicle curtain was pulled back again and a young doctor entered. Strike thought he looked about 18, far too young to know anything about medicine. He looked at the readings on the monitor and also scanned the papers stuck to the obligatory clipboard at the end of the bed. He then felt around Robin's jawline and throat glands. "How do you feel now?"

"Yeah, much better thanks. My lips still feel a bit erm, …. like Mick Jagger….. do they look it?" Strike laughed, as did the young medic.

"Ok, I think you're fit to go home now Miss Ellacott. I'll let you go in another hour or so. I've got some tablets here for you to take for the next few days. But, better if someone is with you overnight, tonight. Is that, erm, alright?" The doctor was looking pointedly at Strike, assuming that he fit the bill as Robin's companion.

"Yeah, fine," said Strike before Robin had a chance to answer.

Once the doctor had left the cubicle, Robin promptly asserted, "I will be fine tonight Cormoran. I am perfectly alright on my own."

"No, you're not. You heard the doctor. You're staying at my place. Someone should be with you."

"But I don't need to. I'll just get a taxi home and go straight to bed."

Strike put up a hand, a familiar sign to Robin that she was losing the argument. "It's not up for discussion….Mick…... You're staying with me." Strike was smirking.

"Oh shut up!" exclaimed Robin, playfully slapping Strike on his arm.

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	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

In the taxi back to Strike's flat, Robin was still trying to convince him that she could go home and sleep overnight alone.

"It's not really convenient to stay at yours. It's too small, I'll just be in the way." Strike ignored her comments and stared out the taxi window.

"And I don't have any stuff with me. I need…. stuff….," Robin pleaded.

"Like what?" replied Strike.

"Y'know…..stuff….," Robin gestured into the air. "Something to sleep in for a start."

After a moment's thought, Strike replied in a matter of fact tone, "Well, you've probably got three choices there. Sleep in the clothes you're wearing, sleep in nothing at all or I'll give you something."

Robin turned to look at Strike with wide eyes and a slight blush. He glanced at her, but could feel his own face warming, so turned back to the window.

"Well, I think it has to be the third option," replied Robin, trying not to laugh.

"Right, the only other thing anyone really needs is a toothbrush and I can give you a spare one of those. Job done." Strike smiled with satisfaction.

Robin resumed her air of obstinacy. "Well, there's no way you're giving me your bed. It's your bed and you need it more than me. I'm not having that."

"We'll see."

Once back at the flat, Strike busied himself in the kitchen, while Robin settled on the sofa.

"Are you hungry? Do you want anything to eat?" Strike asked.

"Oh no. Totally lost my appetite after all that."

"Cup of tea then?" offered Strike.

"Yeah, that would be nice. But let me make it."

"You just sit where you are Miss Ellacott. You're supposed to take it easy." Strike waved his finger towards Robin in a scolding fashion.

After a few minutes, Strike appeared with two cups of tea and some biscuits. "Better check there's no nuts in those biscuits," he joked.

"Oh, very funny." Robin couldn't hide her smile as she rolled her eyes. "All the nut jokes, great. Am I going to get this all night then?"

"Maybe." Strike chuckled as he sat down next to Robin.

"I feel really stupid as it is. I've ruined the girls' night and now I've messed yours up too."

"No you haven't. I'm sure you would do the same for me." Strike glanced hopefully across at Robin. "Yeah, probably," she replied, through a mouthful of crumbs.

They both sat for a while in silence, drinking their tea and munching on their snacks. Then, Strike went in search of his camp-bed and a spare duvet, sheet and pillow, which he assembled in the corner. Robin recognised it immediately - she had slept on it before.

"Right, are you sure this bed is ok for you, because you can have mine if you want," volunteered Strike.

"No, absolutely not. You've done enough already. The camp-bed is fine. I have been on it before."

"Yeah, you have, of course."

"And erm…do you have an old t-shirt or something I can wear?" asked Robin, feeling slightly awkward.

"Sure. Let me have a look." Strike crossed into his bedroom and rummaged around in some drawers. He reappeared with a dark grey t-shirt, which he offered to Robin.

"Is this ok? It's obviously too big, but…."

"Yeah, looks good." Robin held it against herself, already knowing it would be enormous.

"There should be a spare toothbrush under the sink."

"Great."

"Right, well, listen, I'll go downstairs for a bit. I want to read some stuff for tomorrow. Give you some space."

"Ok."

Strike made for the door. "Cormoran, erm….…..thanks. For doing this." He smiled and gave a dismissive wave as he left the flat.

Robin looked around at Strike's abode. Quite neat and tidy, just like him really. It was very familiar to her and memories of her previous short stay here were rapidly flooding back into Robin's mind.

She went to the bathroom, found the spare toothbrush and brushed her teeth. Robin looked in the mirror and felt around her face and throat again. Mmm, nearly back to normal she thought. She could do with giving her face a good wash, but she didn't have any proper cleanser and Strike only had soap. Robin thought better of it. Maybe a dose of soap on her face after an allergic reaction wasn't a good idea. Just need to wait until she got home tomorrow.

Robin then undressed, arranging her clothes in a neat pile beside the camp-bed. She pulled on Strike's t-shirt. It was rather big, reaching down somewhere between her thighs and her knees. But it would be warm, she told herself. Robin then crawled onto the camp-bed, under the duvet. She remembered those nights when she lay just like this.

Robin had arrived back in London the week after agreeing to come back to work with Strike. Her parents had volunteered to fund temporary accommodation for a month until she could find something more permanent. Robin had scoured the internet and found a temporary studio flat which she could rent for 4 weeks in Clapham. She then started looking for somewhere to rent on a longer basis. She knew this wouldn't be easy. Her finances were tight and she would need to share a flat or a house with strangers, but she had no choice.

She travelled down to London by train with only one small suitcase. Strike had insisted on meeting her off the train and together they had found the temporary accommodation, where Robin settled herself. In the following weeks, she arranged to collect her belongings from the house she had shared with Matthew. She also organised various viewings for rooms to rent. Robin had decided that something near to the Northern Line would be most convenient for travelling to and from work and concentrated on properties in those areas. Again, Strike insisted on accompanying her on all of these trips, helping her to move bags of clothing and other personal belongings and giving his opinion on the rentals. Strike had some spare time available as work was only beginning to build up again after the Laing case. Thank God, otherwise a desperate state of penury would have prevailed once again.

Of all the properties they had seen, both Robin and Strike preferred one in Tooting. She would be sharing a house with three others, all strangers, two females and one male, but she would have her own, decent sized bedroom and she could afford it. The only problem was that the room was not available soon enough.

"I really like the place in Tooting," she said to Strike the morning after their visit. "It just has a good vibe about it and it's much cleaner and brighter than the other ones we've seen."

"Yeah, I like it as well. Go for it."

"I would, but it's not available until the 1st and I'm out of the studio on the 15th. I need something sooner. Or I'll need to extend the studio a bit longer." Robin was already resigned to missing out.

"So, you only need to bridge the gap for about 2 weeks?" asked Strike.

"Yeah."

Strike thought for a moment. "Why don't you crash at mine, upstairs?"

"What? Oh God, no, I couldn't possibly do that. I mean, thanks, but, it's too much," gushed Robin.

"No it isn't. It's only 2 weeks. If you really want the place in Tooting….. and just think of the money you'll save on that studio. You could use that to buy other stuff you'll need."

"But Cormoran, I couldn't, really. It's so kind of you, but…"

"Just do it. Call them now and say you'd like to take the room. Do it! Go on." Strike gestured for Robin to pick up the phone.

"Do you think…?" she faltered.

"Yes. Do it. Or I will." And Robin knew he meant it.

"Ok." Robin's face lit up with delight. "Fab!"

Robin turned over on the camp-bed. She was surrounded by a familiar aroma, from the bedclothes and the t-shirt. It felt comforting and it made her want to snuggle in even more. She couldn't identify the smell specifically. It was just Cormoran. A bit of laundry detergent perhaps, a bit of aftershave, a bit of tobacco, a bit of something else. Just Cormoran. It made her feel safe, protected, cosy. I like this smell, she thought. Her mind flashed back to one of the nights when she had stayed here the previous year.

Strike and Robin had worked out a rota so that when either of them was showering and dressing, the other would go down to the office, whether that was in the morning or evening. It had worked perfectly, except for once. That particular evening, Robin had showered and she was snugly wrapped in a large towel, having roughly towel dried her hair. But she felt so knackered. On top of all the moving, she was working extra hard, trying to get business going again and quite frankly, probably trying to prove a point to Cormoran. She would just lie down on the camp-bed and shut her eyes for a few minutes while she dried off. Only it wasn't a few minutes. It was hours. Robin woke up with sunlight streaming in the window. She was still wrapped in her bath towel, but she was lying on top of her own duvet and also covered by another one - Cormoran's.

Oh shit. Shit! I so hope I was covered up when Cormoran came in, she prayed. Oh God, how embarrassing. What if she had been lying there with her…. her bits in full view? Oh Christ, I'll never get over that, she thought. But she had had one of those deep sleeps where you hardly move at all and her towel was still all around her body. Maybe it was ok. And Cormoran had sacrificed his duvet! "Oh bugger," said Robin. And everything had been going so well.

Robin checked the time – it was 8 a.m. She couldn't hear any sound coming from Strike's bedroom. She got up from her bed as quietly as possible and tip-toed over to the bedroom door. There was no sign of him, but surely he must have slept there? He was probably just up early and already downstairs.

Robin dressed quickly and sorted her hair, which was a bit wild from being damp when she fell asleep. She then brushed her teeth, applied her usual make-up and left the flat to go down to the office. She found Strike in the small kitchen area, boiling the kettle.

"Good morning. Cup of tea?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Strike went down to the office, he knew he probably wouldn't do any work at all. He really just wanted to give Robin space and peace to prepare for bed. He would try to read something maybe for an hour or so. That should be enough time.

He pulled out the file for the job he was currently working on, and lit up a cigarette. However, the picture in his mind belonged to quite a few months ago. Robin was staying for a few weeks and she was showering so Strike was working late in the office, as they had agreed. He normally allowed an hour or two at least, to give Robin time to herself. Strike engrossed himself in photos and notes for the case he was working on. After a while, he realised that he hadn't heard any movement coming from the flat overhead for ages. What time was it? He looked at his phone, 10 o'clock. Strike then sent a text to Robin. "Are you decent? C". Strike waited for a reply, but none came. I bet she's asleep, he thought. After another 15 minutes with no response, Strike decided he was going up anyway. She had to be asleep.

Strike opened his flat door very quietly and poked his head around it. "Robin?" he enquired. No answer. Nearly all the lights were on – sitting area, kitchen, shower-room. And there, in the corner on the camp-bed was Robin, fast asleep, dead to the world. She'd had a lot on her plate lately and he'd noticed she was working extra hard too. No wonder she was knackered. The air was heavy with the aroma of Robin's shower gel and shampoo. And all that other stuff that women spray around, thought Strike as it filled his nostrils.

As Strike extinguished the unnecessary lights, he couldn't help his eyes lingering on Robin's still form lying there on the bed. Her modesty was well wrapped up by her bath towel, but her shoulders and long legs were free of any covering. His eyes took it all in, her pale skin and lean limbs, her golden hair splayed across her pillow and he immediately felt a pang of guilt. This isn't fair, she's sleeping. Stop taking advantage, for Christ's sake.

She will be cold, he thought, better cover her with the duvet. But she was lying on it, which would mean waking her up. No, he couldn't do that, she looked so peaceful. I'll give her mine, thought Strike, I can make do with the spare blankets. So he dragged his own duvet from his bed and laid it over Robin as gently as he could. She didn't stir at all. At this point, Strike noticed Robin's hair was still damp. He reached out to touch it on the pillow. Mmm, it was damp but he quickly decided he wasn't able to sort that particular problem. Leave the hair alone, he berated himself.

Strike got ready for bed himself, being careful to make as little noise as possible. He settled under the spare blankets. Robin had already stayed for over a week, but tonight he felt strangely different knowing she was lying so close to him. Now he had two visions in his memory, which he would never forget. Robin draped in a very close fitting green dress and now Robin asleep, wrapped in a bath towel. Jesus, it won't be easy falling asleep tonight.

The next morning, Strike awoke early, dressed quietly and immediately went down to his office. He imagined Robin would be embarrassed, so he didn't want to make it worse. After a while, he could tell she was up and about from her movements overhead. When he heard Robin descending the stairs, he rose and went to the kitchen to boil the kettle.

"Good morning. Cup of tea?"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike pulled his thoughts back to the present time and looked at his watch. Robin should be well settled by now. He closed up the office and climbed up the stairs to his flat. Again, there was the sight of Robin on his camp-bed in the corner, fast asleep. Déjà vu. He hovered near to her to check she looked ok after her earlier visit to the hospital. She was curled up, completely enveloped in the bedclothes, soft and content. Strike gazed at her some more, tempted to push some stray hair back from her face. He regularly felt the impulse to touch Robin's hair, her face, give her a hug. She was just….

Oh for fuck sake, he thought, rubbing his eyes. Dreaming of touching up my junior business partner, just because she's staying overnight? What a caricature of a dirty, old, pervert boss, you fucking imbecile.

With that thought, Strike got ready for bed, thoroughly annoyed with himself.

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	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was now late one Friday afternoon several weeks later. Strike and Robin had barely seen each other all week. Strike had spent a lot of his time in the office, carrying out computer based searching and tracing for a missing person enquiry. Robin was out again trailing a wife and a husband in two separate marital dispute cases. She often volunteered for the jobs which involved a lot of walking or travelling around in order to spare Strike's leg.

Strike picked up his phone and called Robin. "Hi, how are things?"

"Fine thanks."

"Are you finished for today? Do you have time for a drink?"

"Yes, I was just on my way back, so I could meet you for a few."

"The Tottenham, say around 6?"

"Yeah, great. See you then."

After another hour on the computer, Strike closed up the office and headed for his favourite pub. He ordered a pint of Doom Bar and a large white wine for Robin. Office based work always seemed to drag a bit compared to surveillance, so it had felt like a very long week for Strike. He really missed seeing Robin and wanted to have a catch up. Or maybe it was more of a cheer up, if he was honest. She never failed to brighten his mood, he noticed.

Strike was already on his second pint when Robin arrived about 10 minutes later, her face bright and eyes shining. Nearly every male in the pub turned their eyes to follow her as she made her way through the bar to find Strike at a back booth. "Hi Cormoran. Oh great, you've got me a wine already." Robin shrugged off her coat and sat down alongside Strike.

"Hi. You're looking happy. A good day then?" asked Strike.

"A really good day. I think I've got some good photos for one case. Not so much the other one, but the trail I followed was interesting and might lead to better photo opps. next week. I'll see when I get back to the office." Robin took a large drink of her wine.

"Great. You might be finished at least one of those jobs by next week then?"

"Probably. But then I'm going back home for a week's holiday after that, remember?" Robin looked at Strike expectantly. "You have remembered, haven't you?"

"Erm, no, I forgot. But it's fine. It's only a week, isn't it?" Strike had tried to forget about the holiday. The office felt so quiet when Robin wasn't around, empty and lifeless. Changed days from when a bare office offered him refuge from a cruel world.

"Yes, just one week. And what about your case?" asked Robin.

"A bit of a drag to be honest. Just on the computer and the phone most of the time. I'm still trying to get concrete information on that missing guy. I've found a few promising leads, so I'll follow those up next week. We've also got three new appointments for Monday and Tuesday," said Strike.

"God, we're just so busy just now. It's relentless. Not that I'm complaining though," Robin hastily added.

"No, me neither. Listen, I was thinking….."

"Oh no, not again. You really need to stop that," said Robin, in a jokey, mocking tone.

Strike turned and looked straight at Robin as he responded, "A bit less of your cheek Miss Ellacott."

"You love it really!" answered Robin, staring back and smirking.

Strike couldn't keep from smiling at his impudent partner. Robin felt her heart skip a beat and she took another large swig of her evaporating wine. Sometimes Strike shot her a look or a smile which gave her goosebumps. It was full of some feeling she couldn't describe.

Strike continued. "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted… I was thinking, we hardly see each other just now because of the volume of work. If I'm not out of the office, you're out somewhere. We're just passing by. I would rather we took some time to catch up every week, or maybe every two. We should know each other's jobs, y'know, just in case we need to jump in to help at any point."

"Yes, I think you're right boss. Sounds very sensible to me," said Robin, in another jokey manner.

"Boss? Me? I thought YOU were taking over the place lately," replied Strike.

"As if! No, you're still firmly in charge Mr Strike."

"And don't you forget it," said Strike, wagging his finger in Robin's direction, prompting her to laugh loudly. He couldn't help but respond in kind.

"So, what if we were to meet up every second week, say….. in here, on a Friday evening? Just like this? And we can discuss our jobs and bounce ideas off each other? Except if something really urgent comes up."

"Yeah, sounds good," said Robin.

"Unless, of course…. unless that's a problem for your boyfriend?" Strike looked at Robin with a raised eyebrow.

"My boyfriend? What makes you think I've got a boyfriend?"

"I'm a private investigator. I've noticed you going out onto the stairwell sometimes to talk on the phone. Whispering and all that."

"I have not!" Robin felt her face turning red, but she had no control over it. Strike looked at Robin again with the same raised eyebrow.

"Well, maybe." Robin had to look away. Strike's eyes were just too penetrating.

"So, what's the story then?" he persisted.

"There isn't any story. None worth telling anyway." Robin took another swallow from her drink.

"Well, what's his name at least? And please don't let it be Matthew," said Strike shaking his head.

"I'm not convinced you deserve any details. You never tell me stuff like that," retorted Robin.

"No? Well, you know about Kimberley."

"Yeah, only because you had to introduce her because I bumped into you both outside the office. You didn't exactly volunteer that information." Robin crossed her arms in a show of indignation.

"We're just a casual thing. Nothing serious."

"What, for most of this year?" asked Robin challengingly.

"Yeah, that's still casual."

"Really? Mmm, well maybe I'm having a casual thing too."

"No, I'm not buying that. You're not the casual type."

"And how would you know, Mr Private Investigator? What 'type' am I then?" Robin poked a finger into Strike's arm.

Strike just laughed and drained his pint. "Tell me his name. I bet it's Jason or Nathan or Joshua or something like that."

"Not even close."

"Ok, I'm going for a smoke and I'll ponder it some more. You alright for a few minutes?" asked Strike.

"Sure."

Robin took out her phone and looked busy while she sipped her drink. Cormoran seems different tonight, she thought. Curious, probing, getting personal. He wasn't usually like that. In fact, she had thought relations between them were a bit more reserved since she had come back. But then she had sensed something of a change the night he came to the hospital and insisted on her staying overnight. He really was a very caring person she decided, underneath his sometimes gruff exterior. Much softer than he would ever admit, even to himself, she also decided. He really is my best friend in the world and I…I'm extremely fond of him. It's weird how that happened, thought Robin, when she remembered the very first time she met him. A massive collision on the stairs, a large hand outstretched to save her, instinctively, but then an almost grudging acceptance of her presence when she wasn't supposed to be there. How things had changed. Robin looked up to find him and caught sight of his head, his unruly hair, outside the pub window. I really am very attached to that big woolly mammoth.

Strike lit up a cigarette and took a couple of long and very satisfying draws. So, he was right, Robin did have a new man. Bollocks. I don't like this, he thought. I really don't like this, but I have absolutely no right not to like this. I don't even understand what I'm saying to myself. Stupid idiot. She is beautiful and altogether lovely – why would she not have a boyfriend? It had been long enough after Matthew. She had every right to enjoy herself and look for someone special. Why should it bother me? Strike asked himself. Why the hell should it bother me? I'm seeing Kimberley after all, I can't be a hypocrite. He took another few draws on his cigarette. I'm just being protective, he decided. Just looking out for Robin and making sure she doesn't meet another Matthew. Just close business partners who spend a lot of time together. Yeah, that's exactly what it is. Nothing more. Only, his thoughts sometimes….in fact, often, strayed way beyond that.

He lit up another Benson and Hedges. After a few more minutes, Strike re-entered the pub and bought another two drinks for himself and Robin.

"Is it Ryan then?" he quizzed, as he arrived back at the table.

"Nope."

"Aaron?"

"No, but's that's quite close. It's the oldest name there is."

"Adam! It's Adam."

"Bingo."

"Adam. Mmm, so where did you meet him?"

"Believe it or not, I met him on one of those courses you sent me on."

Strike's face fell. "Aw no way. No fucking way Robin."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, taken aback.

"Please tell me you didn't give him your number. Did you give him your number after he chatted you up?" Strike ran his hands through his hair.

"No, I didn't, said Robin indignantly. "I don't just give out my number to anyone."

"Sorry. That was over the top. Sorry, of course you don't. It's just…. you don't know anything about this guy. He could be a psycho who then starts calling you all the time."

"I am perfectly aware of that Cormoran. I took HIS number and said I would think about it. Then, I met him again at the follow-up course and, well….."

"Oh ok. And how long have you been seeing him?"

"I've been out with him… 4 times now. And I haven't detected any psycho tendencies," stressed Robin. "Not yet anyway."

"So, what's his job, since you met him at a course? Is he an investigator too?"

"No, he's in the police. Just starting at detective level."

"Oh, right, interesting."

"Anyway Cormoran, just so I know, how am I supposed to meet someone if I don't meet them at a course, or in the pub, or through work?" Robin looked sideways at Strike as she said, "Maybe I should try online dating."

"No, no, just….. no. Please don't do that. You REALLY don't know who you're dealing with there," said Strike shaking his head again. "I don't see why you're worried about it anyway. There will be a queue of eligible men wanting to take you out."

"Oh yeah? So where are they then?" said Robin. "I have only had one offer in all the months I've been back in London. Well, two actually, but I didn't fancy the other one."

"Are you kidding? Every man who appears in our office gives you the once-over – clients, couriers, all of them. And every guy in this pub is doing the same."

"No they're not. You're exaggerating." This wine is disappearing too fast, thought Robin. "And do y'know what? This is rich coming from you."

"What? I don't have men eyeing me up."

Robin giggled. "No, not men, no, but women do. Just look at the women you've been out with. Charlotte, Ciara Porter, SUPERMODEL no less, Elin. All drop dead gorgeous, every one. And now Kimberley. And…..AND, they just seem to fall at your feet too."

"Yeah, now who's exaggerating?"

"Seriously, it's the truth. And that's just the ones I know about. You've got some kind of animal magnetism going on."

Strike and Robin both took large gulps of their respective drinks as they sat in silent contemplation for a few moments. Strike glanced at Robin, but then looked away before her eyes could meet his. Animal magnetism? Robin pretended to check her phone. God, why did I say that? she thought. Say something else, quick.

"So, now it's my turn. How did you meet Kimberley? You never talk about her."

"Do you remember that client Lauren Parry, from a while back? She's her sister. Lauren took me out for a meal and brought Kimberley along."

"She looked nice, y'know, smiley and attractive. What does she do?"

"I've never really been sure. Events management, whatever that is."

"Don't you ever talk about it? Your jobs?"

"No, not really."

"So, are you going out this weekend?"

"Yeah, probably. And you?"

"Yes, tomorrow night. I'm waiting to hear from Adam. He's on a shift right now."

Strike rose from his seat. "I'm having another drink. Do you want one? Or some crisps?"

"Yeah, both please."

Strike disappeared to the bar again and Robin took some mouthfuls from her wine glass to drain it. Each was desperate to quiz the other one more about their respective romances, but too afraid to probe any further.

I wonder what 'Adam' looks like, thought Strike, standing at the bar. No doubt another handsome, clean cut tosser, just like Matthew. Full of himself and ready to sweep Robin off her feet into an Audi A3. Ready to control her and own her as his own. Strike had trouble with the thought of any man being close to Robin. I wonder if they've slept together yet. Fuck, if anyone is being a tosser right now, it's me. I really am a fantasist. I need another drink right now.

What is it about Strike that attracts all these women? thought Robin. Christ where did that come from? Maybe I need to give the wine a miss. Jesus. But I have thought about that before, haven't I? All those stunning women who just seem to walk into Strike's life. He must be doing something right. And a five star review from a supermodel, who raved about his big hands! Robin gave herself a shake, as a shiver went down her body. You can't think about things like that! Cormoran is your business partner for crying out loud!

Strike returned from the bar laden with more drinks and crisps.

"I think I'll need to slow up on the wine. It's going right to my head," admitted Robin.

"You always were a lightweight. You need some training in that department."

"Oh bugger off!"

They both chatted and drank for another few hours, mostly about work, but also about previous jobs and childhood memories. Robin felt her jaw hurting from constantly giggling and Strike was getting progressively outlandish in his telling of old army stories. When they both rose to go home, they did so reluctantly, neither wanting to leave.

Strike walked Robin to the Tube entrance. "Well, I'm quite liking this idea of Friday night seminars in the pub. Brilliant idea," she said.

"Ditto. Hope you have a good weekend with Adam".

"Ditto to you too with Kimberley. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

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	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Robin woke up in her old bed in Masham. It was so familiar, so secure, so dependable. She had spent many nights of her life in this room, most of them good, but some not so good. Pretty awful, in fact. But that was all in the past now. She had a new life in London, which she had mostly built herself. It had started with Matthew, but it wouldn't end with him.

Robin no longer felt any animosity towards her ex. She felt sad about the memories of Matthew, but not about leaving him. That was absolutely the right decision. Her feelings now were indifferent and remote, although whenever she saw him again she would feel a surge of some emotion. But it was only momentary, a natural but short reminder of a shared history together.

What will I do today? she thought. Robin had already been in Masham for 5 days and had caught up with a lot of her family and old friends. Maybe Mum would like to go shopping in Leeds or York? Yeah, that would be good. Some different shops and a chance to catch up properly.

Robin and Linda took off into York for the day and spent several hours ambling around the many stores and stalls. Laden down with their purchases, they found themselves in a quaint tearoom in the late afternoon, ready to tuck into some sandwiches, cakes and tea. They passed the time in some idle chat before Linda steered the conversation in a different direction.

"So, do you feel quite settled in London now?" she enquired.

Robin replied, "Yes, I do. The house I'm in is great, no trouble at all. I don't see my housemates very often, to be honest. We all just pass each other at various times. But it's a nice place to live."

"And what about work? Are you still enjoying it?"

"Oh Mum, I love it, I really do. I'm working a lot of hours, but I enjoy it so much. And Cormoran has been so good to me, sending me on courses and giving me lots of my own cases to do."

"So, no regrets then? About going back?" asked Linda.

"Nope, absolutely none." Robin smiled as she replied.

"I am glad. Your Dad and I were a bit worried that it might not work out as you planned. Life rarely does. Well, I don't need to tell you that, do I? But if you're happy, we're happy." Linda paused for a moment. "And I'm a little bit envious too. You've just gone and grabbed it, haven't you? Grabbed your chances?"

"Aw Mum. You know I couldn't have done any of it without you and Dad. All the money you've given me and all your support. Especially with the whole Matthew thing and London and everything. I can never repay you even a fraction of it." Robin shrugged her shoulders, but then looked quizzically at her mother. "But why do you feel envious? Don't you feel fulfilled in what you do?"

"Oh it's not that. I wouldn't swap my life with your Dad and you lot for the world! No, what I mean is, when I was young, chances for women were a lot more limited. It was a whole different time. I just feel so proud when I see what you have achieved. What all of you have achieved."

Robin could feel herself filling up. "Aw stop it Mum, you're gonna make me cry!"

"Oh come on! None of that now. Right, change of subject, what is your new man like?"

"Adam? Yeah, he's nice. I have a photo here somewhere." Robin fished in her coat pocket for her mobile. After finding the photo, she presented it to Linda. "He's quite tall and he's got nice brown eyes. He's from London. He's in the police, just training to be a detective."

Linda surveyed the image on the phone. "Oh, yes. Very nice. And how long have you been seeing him?"

"Not long really. We've been out about half a dozen times now, for meals and to the pictures and stuff like that."

"And?" Linda was looking at her daughter expectantly.

"And what? Mum! It's far too early to say. I still hardly know him, for goodness sake."

"Mmmm. And how's Cormoran getting on?" asked Linda.

"Oh, you know, it's Cormoran. He's just the same as ever. Sometimes I worry that he drinks and smokes too much. Or he will give himself a heart attack with his eating habits. But he works so hard, really a lot and he's been coaching me all the time too. I do wish he would look after his leg a bit more. I think he hammers it too much and then is surprised when it gives him grief!"

"Sounds like he needs someone to look after him," replied Linda.

"Yeah, he probably does actually. But he's been seeing a new girlfriend for a while now."

"Oh really? I didn't know that."

"Yip, Kimberley." Robin looked at her mother across the table. "You sound a bit disappointed."

"No, no…..erm….. I don't know. I thought perhaps that…. no forget it," Linda said, shaking her head.

"No, tell me. What were you going to say?"

"It's just…I've been wondering if you two might.…. y'know…. might like each other a bit."

"What makes you think that?" asked Robin with eyes widening.

"You can usually tell with these things Robin. I am your Mum after all!"

"But I don't understand, what is there to make you think we like each other?"

"It's nothing obvious. It's the little things. The way two people look at each other or talk to each other or the way you talk to others about them. It's human nature and it shows. Maybe I'm wrong, but I just sense something between you two."

"Well, I do like Cormoran a lot. But it's not romantic. I mean, y'know, we work together and we get on really well, but that's it." Robin could feel her face turning pink, or even red, she couldn't be sure. She also experienced a pang of guilt, as though she had told a lie. She felt an unnecessary urge to explain further.

"And even for the sake of argument, if I DID like him, it would really mess things up at work, wouldn't it? Totally mess things up."

"So you have thought about it?" asked Linda.

"No Mum! No I haven't. Let's just change the subject, shall we? I'm seeing Adam now, so that's that." Another lie, thought Robin as she pretended to check her phone.

"Ok. Whatever you say Robin," replied Linda, holding her hands up in defeat.

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Strike was feeling more and more frustrated with his current enquiry. He really needed an address, but couldn't think how to find it. Not by entirely legal means anyway. If Robin was around, she might have been able to make a call and pretend with one of her perfect impersonations. But she wasn't around and Strike didn't want to disturb her while she was on holiday. The office was so noiseless with Strike being the only occupant. No Robin, typing on her computer or making tea or talking on the phone. No Robin to exchange a good morning greeting or discuss a case with or show some piece of information to. No coat or jacket hanging on the coatstand, no handbag, not even any perfumed aroma from his young partner. It felt dead and Strike was in a mood to match.

Come on, get a hold of yourself for Christ's sake. She's only away for a week. She's been away before. Concentrate.

Strike went back to his papers. He could only think of one way to get the information he needed reasonably quickly. He rose to go to the kitchen to make some tea, still mulling over his idea. He was probably guaranteed a result, but it would cost. After all, Strike had paid handsomely for the last favour asked. When he returned to his desk, Strike drank his tea while the plan fermented in his head. He then picked up his phone and searched for a number.

"Shanker?"

"Bunsen! 'Ow's it goin' bruv?"

"Good."

"Got any more drivin' jobs for me then?"

"No, I have not. You cleaned me out with that last one, you bastard."

"Aw don't be like that Bunsen. All in a good cause, wasn't it?" Shanker laughed down the line.

"Maybe. Listen, I might have something else for you. Interested?"

"Maybe," replied Shanker, echoing Strike's reply. "Depends what it is."

"I can't discuss it on the phone. Can you come round here, to the office?"

"Ok. I could be round tomorrow afternoon. 'Ow's that?"

"Great. See you then."

The following day, Shanker banged on the office door about 4.30 in the afternoon. Strike got up to answer it.

"Bunsen! 'ere I am mate. I'm all ears." Shanker sauntered into the office, surveying the territory in a few glances, like a practised thief.

"I was just thinking you weren't gonna show. Where've you been?" asked Strike, irritated.

"Got things to do Bunsen. Business, y'know." Shanker was already hovering over Robin's desk. "And where's my favourite girl today then? I was looking forward to seein' that beautiful face."

"Robin's on holiday."

"Aw, somewhere nice?"

"Just up home to Yorkshire to see her folks."

"Shame I missed 'er. I love Robin. She's a gem, so she is." Shanker pointed his finger at Strike as he scolded him, "You don't know how fuckin' lucky you are mate, 'avin' 'er workin' for ya."

"Yeah, yeah. Come in here and I'll explain things." Strike gestured towards his inner office.

"Any chance of a cuppa? An' some o' them biscuits? You've always got good biscuits."

Strike shot an exasperated look towards Shanker, but then reluctantly went towards the kitchen to boil up the kettle and put some Hobnobs on a plate. He carried two cups and the plate into his office, where Shanker was already sitting on the chair with his feet up on Strike's desk.

"Right, let's get down to it." Strike then explained to Shanker what he was looking for and asked if he was interested in doing the job. Shanker drank his tea and wolfed down several biscuits noisily, but Strike knew he was listening to every word.

"I might be interested Bunsen. 'Oo knows? It all depends on the price, doesn't it?

"Yeah, doesn't it just. How much then?" asked Strike, with some dread.

"Aw, I dunno. I think maybe it's worth a monkey."

"A monkey? For fuck sake Shanker, it's only an address. I'm not made of money," exclaimed Strike.

"I've gotta fink about the fuckin' risks Bunsen. If I get caught, I'm probably inside for a stretch. It must be worth a monkey. To you." Shanker pointed a chocolate covered finger towards Strike.

Strike thought for a minute. "Yeah, ok. But half upfront and half on delivery."

"Put it 'ere then!" Shanker held out his hand and Strike reluctantly shook it in return. He never wanted to think about where Shanker's hands had been. He then reached into his desk bottom drawer and pulled out a handful of banknotes to pass over to his old friend.

"So, when can you do it?" asked Strike.

"Phew, dunno. I'll let ya know. As soon as."

"Great."

Shanker put down his cup of tea. "So, erm….are you an' 'er shaggin' yet?" He inclined his head towards the outer office to indicate he was referring to Robin.

"No. We work together. It's not like that."

"Yeah, pull the uvver one. A fit bird like that? An' you 'aven't even tried it on?"

"No, I haven't," said Strike, feeling annoyed at the direction of the conversation. "I'm not like you, trying to jump on any woman who might be available. Robin is my business partner and we're just friends."

"Just friends? You're 'avin' a laugh Bunsen. You stopped 'er wedding, so you must feel summink."

"Aw fuck off Shanker," replied Strike, waving his hand as if to dismiss Shanker from his presence. "I did not stop her wedding, she stopped it herself. It was nothing to do with me."

"Yeah, right. You fancy her, I can tell the way you look at 'er, for fuck sake. I don't know why you're denyin' it. An' I fink she likes you too."

"That's crap," lied Strike. "Robin's got a new boyfriend and I'm seeing someone too."

"And even if I WAS interested, we need to work together and that would ruin everything. The whole business." Did that qualify as another lie?

"Why? It's only shaggin'. What's your fuckin' problem?"

"Right now, YOU are Shanker. Now piss off." Strike rose and walked towards the outer door, with Shanker soon following.

"Well, mark my words, someone else is gonna pick 'er up if you don't. I would 'ave a go, if I thought I 'ad a chance. Too right. She's lovely."

Strike looked at his old friend with disgust as he opened the office door and gestured for him to leave. "Over my dead body. Hands off, you dirty bastard."

"See ya later!" waved Shanker, with a cheeky chuckle as he skipped down the stairs.

Strike closed the door behind him, as he muttered to himself, "Fucking hell."

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	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It was now nearing the end of August. Robin was in the office, opening the day's mail. Strike hadn't appeared yet, but he did have appointments scheduled for later in the day. I wonder where he is? thought Robin. She hadn't heard any sound from the flat overhead and so had to assume he was not in the building at all. Maybe he was up really early for another appointment. Or, more likely, he had stayed out overnight at Kimberley's.

Robin didn't like to contemplate Strike and his girlfriend. He had had several of them in the period that Robin had known him, but as time went on she was increasingly resentful of their presence in his life. Was she just protective? Well, given Strike's horrid experiences with Charlotte, maybe she was. Did she assess each woman in Strike's life to see if they measured up? Did they deserve him? Or was she just plain jealous? Robin didn't think she was the jealous type. There was no reason to be, was there? Strike had his life and Robin had hers. They both had their romantic interests, so it didn't make any sense.

But really, if she was completely honest with herself, her Mum was probably right. Robin hadn't been able to stop thinking about what Linda had suggested on their recent shopping trip.

"I've been wondering if you two might like each other a bit. I just sense something between you two," she had said. Good old Mum, putting stupid ideas in my head. Robin had discounted the notion straight away, to Linda at least. But….but, I DO like Cormoran more than as a friend. Mum isn't wrong. Annoyingly, she is so totally right.

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Strike had spent the night at Kimberley's and was now travelling back to the office. He had spent a pleasant evening in her company and once again had slept in her bed. Most men would be feeling very pleased with themselves if they were in his position. So why didn't he? Was he bored with this affair? Well, maybe. He liked Kimberley, she was very attractive, but something was missing. Was he comparing this relationship to the one he had had with Charlotte, however damaging that was? Perhaps, but he didn't want that again, it would kill him. Was he just going out with Kimberley to prove something? To someone or other? Possibly.

But really, if he was brutally frank with himself, Shanker was probably right. Strike hadn't been able to stop thinking about his forthright comments on his recent visit to the office.

"You stopped 'er wedding, so you must feel summink. You fancy her, I can tell the way you look at 'er, for fuck sake. An' I fink she likes you too," he had said. Bloody Shanker, planting crazy notions in my head. Strike had denied it straight away – he wasn't taking relationship advice from that nutcase! But…..but, I DO fancy Robin. Shanker isn't wrong. It's galling to admit it, but that stupid bastard is so fucking right.

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The distinctive white envelope had captured Robin's attention. To Mr Cormoran B Strike, with the familiar NHS logo emblazoned on the outside. I've seen a few of these lately, thought Robin, at least three, maybe four. Mmmm, what is going on? Robin did not recall Strike saying that he had any hospital appointments. She would have remembered that. Nothing had been written in the diary and no days or time had been scored out of his schedule either. I bet these are reminders for Strike's regular leg checks and he hasn't bothered to go. I just know it.

What should she do now? Place the envelope on Strike's desk again and hope that he takes some action this time? Or should she open it and take it upon herself? (All in the good cause of looking after Cormoran of course.) Robin thought for a few minutes and then formulated a plan.

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When Strike reached his office building, he started to climb the stairs. If he went straight into the office, Robin would know he had stayed at Kimberley's overnight. He didn't want that. He would continue up the stairs to his flat and shower and change first.

Strike hobbled up the last remaining stairs and unlocked his flat. As he entered and shrugged off his jacket, he thought, why would Robin not guess I had been at Kimberley's anyway? She will hear me moving around in the flat and will come to that very conclusion, if she hasn't already. She's not stupid. No, it's me that's stupid, thinking that I can hide something from her. And what exactly is it that I'm hiding anyway? Idiot.

The hot shower felt invigorating and Strike lingered for longer than usual. He suddenly had a crazy image that he was cleansing his body of all trace of Kimberley. But why? It was almost as if he felt guilty at having been with her. What utter lunacy, I'm not doing anything wrong. We're consenting adults and why should it matter what Robin might think?

Strike completed his ablutions, pulled out some fresh clothes and dressed. He then tried to comb his hair into some semblance of order whilst telling himself, "I'm gonna get some things finished today and off my desk."

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"Good morning. Did you have a good weekend?" enquired Robin.

"Good morning. Yes, thanks. And you?"

"Yeah, alright. I've just boiled the kettle, so I'll make you some tea and bring it through."

"Oh, nice, thank you," said Strike with some surprise. He headed for his office, but then turned to Robin with a smile and added, "But I don't need any alkaseltzer."

Robin laughed. "No, you look absolutely fine and dandy. No need for that." Both Strike and Robin recalled briefly those previous occasions when the hangover medicine was not optional, but an absolute necessity for one or other of them.

Robin went into the kitchen to make two cups of tea while Strike went to his desk. She placed the cups onto a tray, together with a plate of some biscuits. Then she turned towards her own desk, lifted up the pile of mail to be shown to Strike and placed it alongside the cups. Robin was feeling a little nervous, but took a deep breath before carrying the laden tray through to Strike's room.

"This is great Robin, thank you," said Strike as a very welcome cup of tea was placed before him. "I am so ready for this," he added as he took a first sip from his cup. Robin sat down opposite him and lifted her own cup to her lips. "You're welcome," she said in reply.

After a few more gulps of his tea and the demolition of some biscuits, Strike looked at the pile of mail on the tray. He then looked at Robin opposite him. He was rapidly thinking and his eyes narrowed as he asked, "What are you up to, Miss Ellacott? I know when you're plotting something. Spit it out then." Strike smiled as he picked up another biscuit.

"Well, now that you mention it….. there's a letter here in the post from the NHS, addressed to you," replied Robin.

"Is there?" Strike reached for the envelope on the top of the pile and looked at his name on it. "Imagine that."

"Yes, imagine that Cormoran," said Robin, giggling. "And are you actually going to open this one? Or will it get shoved in the drawer like the others?" Robin stared across at Strike, her face smiling but her eyes challenging.

"Yeah, I'll open it," came the reply. "When I'm ready." Strike took another drink of tea, looking back at Robin with a smirk.

"Good. I'll just wait here until you do it then," replied Robin. She took a snack from the plate and settled back, showing no intentions of going anywhere.

Strike laughed. "Aw come on Robin, what is this? Am I not trusted to open my own mail anymore?"

"Actually, no." Robin placed her cup down on the desk. "Not when it comes to the NHS. This is the third or fourth letter from them that I've seen lately. Now," she paused, "if I were a betting woman, I would say that you are due to get your leg checked and you're not doing anything about it. Am I right?"

"Maybe."

"Just open the letter Cormoran. You have to."

"Bloody hell," said Strike with exasperation. "Y'know, I was actually in quite a good mood until this conversation started."

"Tough. Open the envelope, and don't be a wuss."

Strike's eyebrows shot up. "A wuss? Did you just call me a wuss? You're gonna pay for that one."

Strike chuckled for a few moments. "Ok Robin, if it makes you happy….." He proceeded to open the letter, but then he made the pretence of reading every single word in it, very slowly, without looking at Robin. When he had finished, he simply folded the letter, laid it on his desk and said nothing.

"And?" asked Robin.

"And what?"

Robin rolled her eyes. "What does it say? Is it for your leg check?"

"Possibly."

"Listen, I'm just looking out for you, cos I know that you won't make this appointment for yourself. You know you won't. I'm not trying to be a nag Cormoran."

"Thanks, but I'll deal with it."

"No, you won't." Robin looked at Strike with a scowl and then got up from her chair and turned to go towards the outer office. As she did so, she quickly shot out her hand to try to grab the letter lying in front of Strike. But he was just as fast and his hand came down on top of Robin's, trapping it on the desk. Although Robin was momentarily shocked, she started to laugh uncontrollably. Strike was now standing across from her, laughing himself, but he didn't let go of Robin's hand.

After a short time, their laughter subsided. Strike still made no move to release Robin's hand, grinning whilst watching her across the desk. Robin made no attempt to pull herself free either, staring back defiantly, whilst feeling her face turn redder by the second.

After a few more awkward moments, Robin had to break the intense eye contact and looked down. "Can I get my hand back? Please?"

With a very slow and deliberate movement, Strike's hold on Robin's hand tightened and his fingers curled around her own. He then lifted her hand up from the desk, flipped it over and opened up his palm to enable Robin to withdraw from his grip. All the while Strike did not break his gaze into Robin's eyes or stop smirking. Robin felt rooted to the spot and it took a few seconds for her to pull her hand away after realising she could.

When she felt able to speak, Robin said, "I'm still going to be on your case, y'know." She then turned to retrace her steps back to her own desk.

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Robin left the office to go to the small toilet outside on the landing. She had to pull herself together. What had happened in there? Strike's hand on hers had felt so….so intimate somehow. He wasn't a tactile person and Strike and Robin hadn't touched much in their whole acquaintance. It seemed strange for him to have held her hand for as long as he did. Of course, she had started it and it was only a game, a laugh, a battle of wills over that stupid letter. But his hand had felt so warm, so large. She didn't want to let it go. Phew, she had to get that thought out of her mind, or she wouldn't be able to do any work! I can't develop these feelings for him. I just can't. It's not allowed.

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Strike sat back down at his desk and looked at his hand. Why, he did not know, because that wasn't going to explain what had just taken place. He had hardly ever touched Robin. Initially on the stairs by accident, once or twice holding each other up usually after a drinking session and kissing her hand when they had agreed to be partners. This had started as a stupid, childish clash over that damned letter and he had ended up almost caressing Robin's hand! For fuck sake, you are a dickhead. But her hand had felt so soft. He didn't want to let it go. You can't be thinking about her like that. It will lead nowhere, absolutely nowhere. Forget it, and forget it right now.

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Come the next week, Strike and Robin were in the Tottenham having their regular Friday catch up meeting. They each had four cases ongoing and more appointments lined up. They discussed the status of their respective jobs and Strike offered some advice to Robin on how to progress hers further. He also spoke about his missing person enquiry which was really taxing his brain.

"Have you thought about him maybe changing his name by deed poll?" asked Robin.

"Yeah, I've checked that. No luck."

"What about getting hitched? Then changing his name?" suggested Robin.

Strike looked confused. "But he's a bloke. That wouldn't happen."

"But didn't you say your guy's a homosexual? And he had a partner when he was last seen? They might have entered into a civil partnership and then he could change his name."

Strike stared at Robin in wonder for a few seconds. "Y'know Robin, I could kiss you."

Robin hastily looked down at her drink, feeling embarrassed. Of course, it was only a figure of speech. "Yeah, save it for later," she replied with a dismissive wave, desperately trying to make a joke of it.

"Sometimes you are just brilliant. Bloody brilliant." Strike was still staring at Robin in awe, buoyed by the several pints he had already consumed.

"Only sometimes?" came her quick retort.

Strike chuckled. "Yeah, don't push it. Honestly though, I just hadn't thought of that. I'll check it first chance I get. Fantastic. That has made my weekend already. In fact, I think you need another drink as a reward. Same again?"

"Yes please. Oh, and crisps. Must have crisps."

Strike went to the bar and ordered a pint and a whisky for himself and a large white wine for Robin. He returned to the table and had ripped open the first packet of crisps within seconds.

Half way through his makeshift dinner, Strike said, "Oh, by the way, can I ask a favour?"

"Sure."

"I've made an appointment to get my leg checked at the prosthetics clinic. Could you possibly drive me there and back? It's just over at Roehampton."

Robin nearly choked on her wine. "Oh…My…God," she said in a deliberate, mocking tone. "Y'know Cormoran, I could kiss you."

Quick as a flash, Strike replied, "Yeah, save it for later."

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	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Guess what?"

"What?" replied Robin, who was sitting at her desk searching the internet.

"I think I've found my missing man."

"Oh fantastic! You must be pleased," said Robin, now distracted from her task.

"Well, you know I found out that he WAS now in a civil partnership and had changed his name. Someone suggested that to me – can't remember now….." said Strike, rubbing his chin.

"Yeah, that's me," replied Robin, beaming with pride. "Go on."

"I've still had to do a bit of searching, but I think I've found him working on a farm," said Strike.

"Wow. A farm? Doesn't sound like his kind of thing," said Robin. "Where is it?"

"Norfolk." Robin looked at Strike with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, I know," he continued. "I really need to go there in person. So….?"

"You'd like me to drive you there?" suggested Robin, finishing Strike's line of thought.

"Can you do it?"

"Of course. When would you like to go? I can't really do it the rest of this week, I'm afraid. And we've got some appointments in the diary early next week. What about next Thursday or Friday? Looks like you're free then too."

Robin had brought up the office diary on her computer screen, and Strike had come round behind her chair to look at it. Robin shifted in her seat to allow Strike to view the screen. She had always been sensitive to any physical proximity to Strike, but over the past weeks that sensitivity had ramped up a few notches, apparently for no reason. Strike put a hand on the back of Robin's chair to steady himself while he leaned in to look at the screen. Robin felt her stomach turning over and tried really hard to just focus on some papers on her desk.

"Do you know anything about working patterns on a farm? Do they get days off on Fridays or anything?" asked Strike.

"Not that I know of. It's probably the opposite, working 24/7, early mornings and all that," replied Robin.

"Ok, let's go for next Friday, then it runs nicely into the weekend."

Robin started to tap on the keyboard. "Ok, it's in the diary. Set in stone." She turned to look up at Strike still standing behind her. He was tempted to press his hand on her shoulder or arm as an acknowledgement. It seemed the natural thing to do, something he might have done to a colleague in the army. And yet the invisible boundary between them deemed that such a gesture wasn't appropriate. Strike removed his hand from the chair and scratched his beard as he moved away to go back into his office.

"Thanks," he called back.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Several months earlier, Robin had traded in the old Land Rover. Although it had been very useful, it was falling apart more and more and the repair bills were mounting. She had bought a second hand Ford Fiesta in exchange which had previously belonged to an old lady, so there weren't many miles on the clock. In comparison to the Land Rover, it was positively luxurious and it was much easier to navigate and park around the city streets.

Robin pulled up outside the office in Denmark Street on the Friday morning of their trip. She had worked out that it would take 2 to 3 hours to get to their destination if the traffic was good and the same time coming back. There would probably also be added time in finding the farm once they arrived in the vicinity, so overall there was a full day of travel ahead.

Robin had driven Strike on many occasions, so it wasn't anything new. And yet she felt a little nervous, with butterflies in her stomach. Lately, her mind had been straying into forbidden channels, examining her growing feelings towards her partner. She was trying desperately to dismiss those feelings, to eradicate them altogether. It is just a silly, schoolgirl crush and it will pass. It will pass. It will definitely pass.

Robin looked in the rear-view mirror to inspect her hair and make-up. Checking the time, she realised she had better get going and pulled off her seatbelt.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike had already been up for three hours by the time Robin arrived to pick him up. His sleep had been fitful to say the least, tossing and turning all night. Eventually Strike had gotten up around 6 am, which was a good deal earlier than his normal rising time. He had smoked, drank tea, eaten some toast, smoked some more, drank more tea.

He had been working on this case for what seemed like months now and finally, finally, there appeared to be a breakthrough. He was a little nervous about the trip today. Would he find his man? Would it be a wasted journey, ending in disappointment? Or, was there another reason?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike and Robin had settled themselves in the car and they were already nearing Stratford on the outskirts of London.

"Do you mind if I put on some music?" asked Robin.

"Sure," answered Strike. "As long as it's good. It's not gonna be any of that crap from the charts, is it?"

"No, I've made up a playlist just for today. I don't think there's any rubbish on it." Robin glanced over at Strike. "Well, depends on your taste."

"You've made up a playlist?"

"Yeah. I make them up all the time." Robin wasn't going to reveal that she had spent many hours the previous evening making up this playlist especially for the journey. Especially for Strike.

"You like your music then?" enquired Strike.

"I love music. Well, usually. It depends on your mood, doesn't it? If you're feeling a bit low, it can sometimes just depress you even more. But it can really cheer you up too."

"This is gonna be interesting, isn't it? Can't wait to hear what you've got," replied Strike.

Robin started up the playlist on the car stereo, which was connected to her ipod. Would Strike like any of it? Or was she going to be ridiculed for the rest of the journey? The music started to stream out of the speakers…..

 _David Bowie – Eurythmics – Texas_

"Not a bad start Robin, I have to say. Do you mind if I shut my eyes for a bit? I didn't get a good sleep last night."

"No problem. Just let me know if the music's too loud."

The songs played on.

 _Adele – Motown - Elvis Costello - Depeche Mode - Paul Weller – Pulp – Rihanna - Paolo Nutini_

"What's that guy's name again? Him singing just now?" asked Strike, with one eye squinting towards the car stereo.

"Paolo Nutini."

"Yeah, I like his stuff. He's good."

 _Fleetwood MAC - The Human League – Stereophonics - Maroon 5_

Strike opened his eyes periodically and glanced over at Robin. She was driving very competently, as she always did. But now she was also singing very quietly to herself, apparently knowing just about every word of every song. Quite often, she was also nodding her head to the beat of the tunes.

 _Motown - Roxy Music - Electronic - Biffy Clyro - Robert Palmer – The Psychedelic Furs - Amy Winehouse_

Strike woke up. "Ooooohhhhh Amy. What a fantastic singer she was. Such a shame what happened to her. She was so talented. What a bloody waste, eh?"

"I couldn't agree more. I've got all her albums."

 _The Kinks - Talking Heads – Prince – Emeli Sande_

Before they knew it, they had been driving for over 2 ½ hours. "I think we're getting quite close now Cormoran. Swaffham is only 3 miles away. Do you have the map to see where we should go now?"

Strike pulled himself up from his slumbering position and reached over into the back seat for the map and the rough directions which he had scribbled down on a sheet of paper from his notebook.

"Ok. We should take the A47 towards Necton. We go past Necton for a bit and then we take a road to the left. We seem to pass a pub type place on the right before this road appears. I'll need to watch out for it."

"Right. I think I can manage that," replied Robin.

They drove on for another 25 minutes before Robin was pulling up outside "Thurston Farm".

"Great, I'm so glad we found it without going round in circles for ages," said Strike with relief. "If you don't mind, I'll go in by myself?"

"Yeah, sure," answered Robin.

"I just don't want to appear like a delegation when this guy's gone to all this trouble to hide himself. Do y'know what I mean?" asked Strike.

"Of course. I'll be fine. See you in a bit," said Robin. "Good luck," she added as Strike pulled himself out of the car.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

About an hour later, Robin had been dozing a bit, but became fully alert when she heard a gate opening and closing. Strike was walking back to the car and Robin scanned his face to see if he looked pleased or not. However, he was his usual inscrutable self.

Strike removed his coat, placed it on the back seat and then climbed into the front with his usual clumsy technique. He just looked at Robin and smiled.

"So, what happened?" she asked excitedly.

"It's him alright. I saw him, spoke to him, shook his hand."

"Oh that's just brilliant!" exclaimed Robin. "I am so happy for you."

"Yeah, I'm pretty pleased myself."

"So, will he see his Mum again?"

"Start driving and I'll tell you all about it."

Robin started up the engine and turned the car around to set off on the farm road. By the time they reached the main road, Strike was in full flow with his story and Robin was agog, listening intently.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robin and Strike were now driving along a main road through the centre of Norfolk, on their way back to London. The music had been switched on once again. Strike was feeling revived from his success and was even humming along to some of the tunes.

 _Simply Red - Snow Patrol – Abba - The Pet Shop Boys - George Michael – REM - Beyonce – Motown - Kylie Minogue_

"Ooooohhhhh Kylie. What a song that is. Literally, you can't get it out of your head. An absolute monster song that one."

"I think everyone likes a bit of Kylie, don't they? How can they not?" said Robin, glancing over at her partner.

"Indeed. Do you remember that outfit she wore in the video? That white jumpsuit thing? Jesus. And those hotpants? Fuuuuck sake. Or was that another song?"

"I think it was "Spinning Around"."

"Oh yeah, that's right. _"I'm spinning around, move outta my way…"_ Strike sang in a faux, high, female like voice.

Robin stared across at her companion whilst also trying to keep her eyes on the road.

" _I know you're feeling me cos you like it like this…"_

Robin could not believe her ears and dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. She raised her hand from the steering wheel to her face to try to control herself, but to no avail. She knew instinctively that she wouldn't be able to control the car any longer, so she pulled over into a lay-by which they were luckily just passing. Once she had brought the car to a stop, she pressed both of her hands up to her eyes to try to stem the flow of tears pouring out.

"What?" asked Strike in mock ignorance.

"What? That has to be the funniest thing I have ever heard in my whole life. I'm not kidding. That was hilarious." Robin just couldn't hold it in and started giggling hard again, powerless to stop it. She continued for a full minute, her shoulders and stomach heaving and eyes crying. Strike was smiling, on the brink of full-on laughter himself.

"Don't you think I'm a good singer then?"

"Oh please, stop it. You are the limit. I can't take this anymore." Robin's voice was rising to dog whistle pitch as she was unable to control her speech any longer. She wiped at the tears once again falling from her eyes and was laughing so hard, she thought she might wet herself. She brought her hands down to clutch her stomach, which was aching with the hilarity and hoped that she could stop herself from having an unfortunate accident.

Strike was now laughing strongly, staring at Robin who appeared to be having convulsions.

"Oh God," Robin breathed heavily. "Really….. that was too much. I don't know if I can keep driving. Seriously." At that, Robin set off again, chortling in a high pitch, still not able to exercise any power over her bodily functions. Her laughter went on for what felt like minutes. Her sides were sore with her stomach muscles flexing so much and she was beginning to feel the strain in her jaw.

By now, every time that Robin set off laughing again, Strike did so in return. The sight and sound of Robin dissolving into such genuine and heartfelt mirth was irresistible and before long, Strike felt tears pricking at his own eyes.

Eventually, Robin seemed able to control herself again and tried to focus on regaining her breathing. She knew that she couldn't look over at Strike or she would crumble once more.

"It wasn't that funny, was it?" he asked, still smiling.

"Oh it SO was Cormoran. It was hysterical. My sides are just about to split. I mean….. you have such a deep, deep voice and you're so….well, you're a big guy…and then suddenly, you're trying to sing like Kylie…" Robin started to laugh again, her shoulders shaking and familiar feelings of pelvic pressure coming on once again. "I think I need a toilet, and quick."

"Yeah, let's find a proper place to stop. We need something to eat anyway," said Strike chuckling.

"Ok." Robin restarted the car engine and set off on the road once more, still tittering quietly.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike and Robin stopped at the next service station. They used the facilities, sat down with some sandwiches and tea and filled up on petrol. Strike smoked a few cigarettes and they then resumed their journey once more.

 _INXS - The Verve - Calvin Harris - The Rolling Stones - The Bee Gees - Hall & Oates – Travis – Nirvana - ELO - U2 – Motown_

"You've got a fair amount of Motown songs on there," commented Strike.

"Yeah, I adore Motown music."

"My Mum used to play that all the time," said Strike.

"Did she?" asked Robin.

"Oh yeah, definitely. She was a 1970s groupie for Christ's sake. There was music on all the time. All sorts of stuff."

"She sounds really interesting, your Mum."

"She was a one-off, that's for sure. Not exactly cut out for dependable motherhood I don't think, and pretty mental, but she was very loving. She loved Lucy and me. We knew she did."

"I've seen some photos of her. She looked really beautiful."

"Yeah, she was. A knockout."

"Do you still miss her?"

Strike thought for a few seconds. "I suppose I do. I was 20 when she died. It's quite a while ago now, but yeah, I still think about her a lot. Every day."

Robin suddenly felt guilty. "I'm sorry for prying. That stuff's private…."

"No, it's fine, really," interrupted Strike, smiling at Robin.

 _The Killers - Marvin Gaye - The Eagles – ABC – Florence & The Machine_

"So, how's it going with loverboy?" asked Strike.

"Loverboy?" Robin laughed. "I take it you mean Adam?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Well, it's not going actually. I'm not seeing him anymore."

"Oh." Strike hesitated, a little shocked. "Sorry, I didn't realise."

"Don't worry about it."

Strike didn't know what to say in response to Robin's revelation. Would she be upset if he probed further? She appeared to be handling it well, but maybe he would open up a wound if he asked any more. Thankfully, Robin continued the conversation herself.

"I ended it. He's a nice guy, decent and kind. But…." Robin stalled. "It wasn't going to go anywhere. I could just feel it. There wasn't that special something, that spark."

"Yeah, sorry," said Strike, nodding in agreement. "I'm sorry I keep saying sorry," he added.

Robin smiled, almost laughed. "Listen, I'm ok, really I am. I feel a bit disappointed, but that's all."

Strike peered over at Robin who was looking straight ahead at the road. He felt a wave of feeling wash over him, that feeling that he could never put a description to. That feeling that perhaps he didn't want to put a description to. He pondered for a few minutes.

"I suppose I'd better fess up then."

Robin glanced across at Strike with a look of confusion. "What is it?" she asked with some concern.

"I'm not seeing Kimberley anymore either," said Strike quietly, as he gazed out the passenger window.

"Really? Oh no."

"Yup."

"I'm sorry Cormoran," said Robin. "That's a bugger, isn't it?"

Strike smiled, as he always did when Robin said that word in her broad Yorkshire accent.

Robin was dying to know more. "So….can I ask…are you…..y'know…..sad about it?"

Strike shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno." He paused, struggling to think of the words. "The way you described it is good. A bit disappointed, the spark isn't there, gone as far as it can type of thing."

Will Robin see right through me? thought Strike. Will she know that I'm not telling the whole truth? That I ended it because my mind is so fucking full up thinking about someone else?

"Never mind. Onwards and upwards eh?" said Robin.

 _Motown - Kate Bush – Oasis – Coldplay – Example –The Script - The Pointer Sisters (I Need You)_

"Now that's definitely an older song. Is that from the 70s?" asked Strike.

"I think it might be the early 80s. It's just a favourite of mine. I don't know why especially, it's a bit soppy, but I just like it a lot."

"You've really got a wide spread of music on there. How do you know all this stuff?" enquired Strike.

"I suppose I've been exposed to quite a lot of music over the years. Mum and Dad used to put stuff on and Top of The Pops and The Tube were on the telly every week. Then my three brothers were always playing a variety of VERY loud music in their rooms. Then Matthew…" Robin paused. "He had a wide taste in music too. Some quite obscure stuff actually."

"Yet another one of your secret talents," observed Strike.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I hadn't heard of Blue Oyster Cult, remember?" said Robin.

"I think you can be forgiven for that one," quipped Strike.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The remainder of the journey seemed to pass quickly for both occupants of the car. By 7pm, Robin was pulling up in Denmark Street once again.

"Do you fancy a celebratory drink at the Tottenham?" asked Strike.

"Oh, I'd love to, but I can't drink while I've got the car," replied Robin, her face falling. "Next week," she added.

"Of course, yeah. You must be tired too, with all the driving," replied Strike.

"We'll definitely do it next week."

"Yeah, great. Listen, thanks a lot for today. I really appreciate it. We're getting a great fee for this job, so it's all good." Strike opened his door, clambered out and then retrieved his coat from the back seat. He leaned back into the car and said, "Oh, and thanks for the music. It was great. Excellent selection. See you on Monday." He gave Robin one of his cute smiles and waved her off.

Robin beamed back. "Yeah, see you Monday."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Don't know how it works with credit for song lyrics etc.

 _Spinning Around_ , sung by Kylie Minogue, written by Ira Shickman, Osborne Bingham, Kara DioGuardi, Paula Abdul.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For anyone who is reading, first of all thank you!

Secondly, I'm a bit short of time just now with work and Christmas etc., so I don't know when I can post again. I have ideas for storylines centred around Christmas, but there's no way I'm going to get those out before Christmas actually comes, so the timing will be all to pot.

Thanks again. Merry Christmas.

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	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Robin was sure she spent the rest of the weekend just day dreaming. Friday had been such a good day. She had never felt so comfortable with Strike, driving together, chatting, listening to music, laughing, sharing the details of the job. It was so enjoyable and Robin wished she could re-live it all again. Had she ever spent a whole day like that with Matthew? She couldn't remember, or if she had, it was so long ago as to be non-existent.

But then, she had to pull herself back down to earth, back into the real world. Strike doesn't like you in a romantic way and he never will like you in that way. He dates sophisticated, beautiful women, models, socialites, musicians, not some slip of a girl from Yorkshire who buys her clothes on the High Street and shares a house with strangers. I just have to get through this flight of fancy. Just get through it and in a few months when your sanity returns, you will realise how utterly ridiculous you have been.

And yet, sometimes in her night-time thoughts, Robin imagined that Strike might have a fondness for her too, just like her Mum had suggested. Could it be possible? On occasion, she did catch him looking at her in a strange way, that way that made her heartbeat falter, usually after a few drinks in the pub. A look of what, though? It seemed like affection, maybe even tenderness. Lust, sometimes? Oh fuck, now my imagination is really running away. I am making it all up now. Delusional. How could Strike lust after me? I am a decade younger, to him probably just a girl from the sticks, naïve, immature, aspirations way beyond my abilities, no life experience, a carbon copy of a million other girls.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike had all sorts of thoughts swirling around in his head. Work, the missing man, Robin, work, Robin, work, Robin, cases, Robin, Robin… Oh fuck. I bloody hate this. I bloody, fucking hate this. Not being able to keep his mind settled on one subject for any decent length of time was frustrating Strike to the limit. He prided himself on doing a good job, being competent and methodical, not missing any angles, recording everything in detail, being factual and logical. Only…..only logic had gone right out the window lately as far as his feelings were concerned.

After Charlotte, he had made a decision. Don't get involved emotionally again. It hurts. It bloody hurts, big time. So, just don't go there again. Always keep a distance. Sure, go out with a woman if she's interested and you're interested and see where it goes. But don't let it go far, don't let it career out of your control. Cut it off before it starts to feel anything remotely like "love". Move on. And he had been so careful, he only had one night stands or he was vigilant in keeping a space, a certain detachment from any regular woman in his life. And in return, Strike was sure that his girl-friends understood that about him. He never offered anything more and they never expected anything more. So what the hell had happened to send his thoughts into this chaotic maelstrom of fucking madness once more?

Robin. She had happened. And she hadn't even done anything! She had just happened, had sidled into his life, unbidden and just stayed there, carving out a little niche for herself. Strike offered her nothing and she never expected anything in return. It was just a working relationship. A good one. A very good one. A great one in fact. But it was so great, it couldn't be jeopardised. No, no, fucking no. Everything is going so well in that domain, I can't threaten it. And what would I be risking it for anyway? A mumbled declaration of my feelings, unrequited, but never to be forgotten, the "elephant in the room" to eventually destroy our working relationship? A quick fumble at the end of a night in the Tottenham, which would likely be rebuffed? Why would she ever fancy me anyway? I couldn't be any more different from someone like Matthew.

And yet, sometimes Strike let his mind wander to imagine that Robin might like him too. Could it be? When she smiled at him and laughed at his piss-poor jokes, the way she tried to look after him, when her eyes sparkled and she blushed in his company in the Tottenham, that way that made parts of his body do inappropriate things…... It seemed like admiration, a real liking, a fondness. But how could Robin really be into me? I'm a decade older, overweight, half a leg missing, grumpy, cynical, living in a tiny attic flat. Don't be a stupid fucker. This is the maddest notion ever in your life and you need to get a grip of yourself. You are not sixteen anymore. You are a grown man and you need to get some logic back. Logic. Where had it gone? These feelings are not logical and they will go away if you just ignore them. So…. ignore them.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Some weeks passed, with work matters occupying both Robin and Strike. It was so busy that when Robin's birthday came around, they had no time for a lunch and would not actually see each other on the day.

In the early morning, Strike sent a "Happy Birthday. Cx" text to Robin. He also left a bottle of pink champagne on her desk, encased in a pretty bottle bag, accompanied by a funny card. He never knew what to write in cards. He was tempted to sign it "with love". Would that be too much? He felt that something more than a "Happy Birthday" was appropriate, but what was the "something"? Wracked with indecision, in the end he simply signed it "Cx".

Robin found the bottle and card when she entered the office the next morning. She laughed as she read the card and saw the familiar sign-off from Strike. She was always surprised that he remembered, but of course with his memory he would never forget. He was out at a meeting, so she texted him. "Thanks for the birthday gift. I will keep it to share on a special occasion. Rx"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The hockey club had started up again after the summer break. Robin had gone to the first night out of the new season, tipped to be a raucous affair according to all reports from previous years. She had been looking forward to it, but on the night, she couldn't keep her mind off her new obsession. Where was Strike tonight? What was he doing? Was he with someone? Was he alone? Would he ever think of me? Robin checked her phone whenever she went to the ladies, just in case he might have sent a message. Yeah, like he usually does on a Saturday night, she told herself sarcastically. As the evening wore on, she got drunker and drunker, convinced this would eliminate the bothersome problem. But to no avail, it only seemed to make things worse.

Robin shared a taxi home with some of her hockey friends. She fumbled her keys in the front door lock, practically crawled up the stairs on hands and knees and tumbled onto her bed with an immense feeling of relief. She pulled out her phone and called up Strike's details. I just want to hear his voice, that's all. I love his voice. I love lots of things about him. Before Robin could apply any common sense to the situation, common sense which had long since been drowned in alcohol, she had pressed the dial button. The call beeps sounded at the other end a couple of times, before Robin suddenly panicked and cancelled the call. Oh shit. Double shit. Her heart was about to burst right out of her chest, it was thumping so loud. Oh God, please don't let Strike see the call. Please don't let it register. Please, just this once.

Robin sat up and tried to breathe deeply, but almost immediately had to lay her head back down. Bugger. I have got this… this "thing" so bad. I have a crush on my work partner, my boss really. How sad is that. How bloody sad is that. I couldn't even get married properly and now I fancy my boss. I am so pathetic. I am so drunk. Robin's head spun as she lay on the bed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike's long-time friend Graham Hardacre was in town and had arranged to meet up with him on Saturday night. They met in the Tottenham to begin with and then progressed onto six more bars and clubs in the Soho area. Strike couldn't stop thinking about Robin. Where was she? What was she doing? Was she with someone? Was she alone? Strike checked his phone at regular intervals, just in case she might have sent a message. As if.

Strike always really enjoyed Hardy's company and before long, they were both very drunk, arguing about football and laughing at ridiculous stories and jokes. In the early hours, their sixth senses kicked in through the alcoholic haze and directed them to go home. They hugged each other as though they would never see each other again, bid each other "au revoir – until the next time" and Strike made his way slowly and deliberately back to Denmark Street. Luckily, his feet always knew the way, even if his brain was slow to catch up.

Half an hour later, Strike limped into his flat and sat down heavily on the bed. His hand contained a half-full kebab container which he was keen to preserve upright, otherwise he would have slumped on his duvet face first. Strike managed to shrug off his jacket and continued to munch on his fast food. When he had eaten enough (was it ever enough?), he fumbled for his phone. No messages. No calls. He pulled up Robin's details and his hand hovered over the call button. Should he? I only want to hear her voice. Make sure she's ok. That's all. So what if it's 2 o'clock in the morning? She'll understand. Robin always understands. Always. Mmmmmm. I think she's just magic…. I think I love her…. At that, Strike's eyes began to droop and his hand dropped slowly to lay his phone down on the bed beside him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The phone in Strike's hand vibrated and started to ring. Instinctively, a signal in his brain told him to wake up, he was wanted. He managed to open one eye and hazily recognised his flat, where the overhead light was still switched on in the sitting area. What was that noise? Was it an alarm somewhere? Then his brain added together the noise and the vibrating feeling in his hand and computed that his mobile phone was ringing. Strike opened both eyes and he managed to grab hold of the phone and bring it closer to his face. He read "Robin – Missed Call" on the screen. He came awake all at once. Robin. Robin has called me. His heart skipped a beat. Something must be wrong.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robin was still trying to slow down the room, which was going around in circles relentlessly. I need to get off this thing. I need to get to the kitchen. I need water. I need alkaseltzer. But every time she opened her eyes, she was still spinning. Help me God to slow this thing down, she thought. Eventually, Robin rolled onto her side and lay still, trying to focus on the far wall and breathe. It seemed to be working. The spin was slowing down and coming to a stop. Her phone rang and made her jerk with the fright. Jesus, what the fuck. She reached out her hand on the duvet to try to find the handset, but she then realised that she was lying on it. She raised her body enough to grab it from under her before the spinning started again. She read "Cormoran" on the screen. Shit, I called him didn't I? Oh Christ. She pressed the green button.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hi Robin?"

"Hi Cormoran." She sounded weak. Please God, let her be ok, thought Strike.

"Are you alright Robin? Are you home?" he asked, a little too anxiously.

The sound of his voice was doing something strange to Robin's insides. Her heartbeat stopped and started. Maybe it was the booze.

"Yeah. Yeah. 'm ok. Jus' really, really drunk. Room's spinning. Head's spinning."

"You're at home though?"

"Yeah. On th' bed. So glad 'bout that. So glad. 'm trying to get to the kitchen for water."

"Get one for me too? 'm pissed as a newt."

Robin laughed. "That's so funny. We're both pissed. Soooooo funny. You're a funny guy, y'know that?" She giggled again.

"Y'think so? Got that water yet? Stop laughing and get the water."

Robin erupted again before she realised she might wake up her housemates. "Shoosh, shoosh, shoooooosh. Quiet. Can't laugh. People're sleepin'," she whispered down the phone.

"Well tell them to get up and get us some water."

"Get your own water, lazy bastard," retorted Robin.

Strike laughed. "Hey, cheeky, why d'you call me anyway? You sure you're ok?"

"Did I call you? Oh God. 'm sorry. Sorry. Did I wake you? Sorry. Jus' wan'ed to hear your voice. It's….my favourite," muttered Robin.

"'s alright. Was just…erm….was just….can't remember…." Strike felt surges running through him. Her favourite voice. I'm sure that's what she said.

"Corm, think I need to go. Think I might…. be sick. Sorry for…y'know…. calling….. an' stuff…sorry. 'm so smashed."

" 's ok. Just go."

"Night."

"Night night."

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	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

It was now mid-November. The drunken phone conversation was never mentioned, neither was much else of a personal nature. This was in stark contrast to how Strike and Robin actually felt. They still tried to meet in the Tottenham every fortnight, and although they both enjoyed and looked forward to their discussions, there was now a certain something hanging in the air between them.

Robin reckoned she had Strike on her mind every minute of every day. Of course she didn't, but being infatuated with someone made you imagine that was the case. Just as well she enjoyed her job and was resolute in devoting her best efforts to it, otherwise she wouldn't be able to get a thing done. In her more lucid moments, she kept reminding herself that this phase would pass. It would come to an end and she had to stay focused on keeping the rest of her life in some semblance of order. She wished the "phase" would hurry up and finish, but had no idea how or when that would come about. Maybe she should try internet dating to meet someone new.

Strike found himself in an equal quandary. What are the pros and cons? If I tell Robin how I feel, the risk is enormous. She might leave and I'll never see her again. Unthinkable. If she doesn't leave, the atmosphere could be intolerable. If I don't tell her how I feel, the same things could happen anyway! Plus, I would be suffering in silence, watching and waiting for Robin to meet someone else, when all I want to do is..… Aw, fucking hell. Strike sighed the sigh of a man with multiple dilemmas piling up, and no corresponding solutions. Maybe giving up Kimberley wasn't the best idea. Maybe he had to meet someone else just to get this thing out of his system.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike was at his desk on Monday morning when his mobile rang.

"Hi Robin?"

"Hi Cormoran." Robin sounded stressed. "Listen, the tube is off here. Completely off. I think there's been a fatality."

"Oh no."

"Yeah. Look, I'm supposed to see Justin Munro at half past 9, but I won't get in on time. Is there any chance you can cover it for me?"

"Yeah, should be able to. I'm not going out until lunchtime today."

"That would be great, thanks. I've met him once already, it's a marital dispute, but all the details are in the file on my desk."

"No problem. I'll have a look."

"Fab. I'll see you as soon as I can. Bye."

"Yeah, bye."

Strike got up to go to Robin's desk in search of the Munro file. The name sounded strangely familiar, but he couldn't quite think from where. Could be a reasonably common name I suppose, thought Strike. He found the file and carried it back through to his room.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robin arrived in the office approaching 10.30. She was flushed from her travels, which involved a couple of buses and a walk. Strike emerged from his office to greet her.

"Bad start to the week, eh?" Strike surveyed Robin and couldn't help but notice her curves as she took off her coat. She was wearing what looked like a new, close fitting pencil skirt.

"Not half. It's absolute chaos this morning, but I suppose you should feel sorry for the poor bugger who's gone to meet his maker."

Strike chuckled at Robin's turn of phrase. "Yeah, you're right. Always someone worse off, isn't there?"

"So, how did you get on? Did Munro come in?" asked Robin eagerly.

"Yes, he certainly did." Strike looked away momentarily. "Erm, why don't you make us some tea and come through and I'll tell you all about it."

"Sure."

Robin busied herself in the kitchen, but could sense a vibe from Strike that the meeting maybe didn't go so well. Mmm, curious. With the tea made, she placed the mugs and some biscuits on a tray to carry through to the inner office. After they had settled, Robin asked, "What happened then?"

"You're not gonna like this Robin." Strike paused. "I told Munro we can't act for him anymore and sent him away."

"You've done what?" Even though Robin had heard perfectly, she couldn't stop from asking the question. Knowing this, Strike didn't answer.

"But…..but why?" continued Robin.

"Because, I am almost certain that he is a journalist trying to get a story."

"But why do you think that? He told me he worked for a bank." Robin looked thoroughly confused.

Strike laughed. "Yeah, just as bad as a journalist probably. Look, there's something familiar to me about his name. I still need to check it out with Culpepper."

"What, so you've just got a suspicion, but you chased him away anyway?" said Robin, as she raised her eyebrows provocatively.

"I was about to phone Culpepper when you walked in," explained Strike.

"Still. You could have waited, checked it out with Culpepper and then we would have been sure. You could have ditched him the next time if we found out he's really up to something." Robin folded her arms across her chest in indignation.

"I just had a hunch and decided he was better to go now, today. When I spoke to him, I could feel that there's something not right. I can't put my finger on it exactly, I just didn't like it," said Strike as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Since when have we acted on hunches and feelings? You're the one that keeps telling me it's all about the facts and hard evidence."

"I know it doesn't sound good, but please trust me on this Robin. I'm almost sure I'm right about this." Strike looked at Robin straight in the eye, hoping to get his point across.

Robin stared back. "Y'know, this doesn't make any sense. He didn't just walk in the door. He was referred here by another client, erm, Karen Taylor, remember?"

"That doesn't mean he's not a journalist. Maybe he's just seen an angle and jumped at the chance to get in here."

"On come on Cormoran, it's hardly likely is it?" Robin now got to her feet and circled round her chair.

"Believe it or not, it is. Karen might be oblivious and know nothing about his motives."

"I would be astounded if she knew anything. She would be horrified," said Robin.

"Robin, come on, you must know what journalists can be like. I CERTAINLY do. Some of them will do anything for a story, especially if they're up against a deadline."

"Yeah, I'm not that stupid."

"I never said you were," replied Strike with a small laugh.

"Y'know, I'm really not happy about this Cormoran." Robin was now glaring at Strike, arms crossed, looking down on him still seated behind the desk.

Strike sighed. "I've noticed."

"Could you not at least have waited until I got into the office and…..I don't know…..you could have discussed it with me first?"

"No," came the curt response.

"No? Is that all I'm going to get?"

"Yes. I took a view and I decided it had to be dealt with immediately." Strike could hear his own voice becoming more abrupt by the second.

"You took a view? And what about my view?" asked Robin in exasperation, pushing her hair behind her ear.

Strike rubbed his eyes and then said as patiently as he could, "Do you remember when we became partners? We agreed that I would still have the last word on all business decisions. That is how it should be and you agreed. I do have much more experience than you Robin."

"Oh rub it in, why don't you?" Robin almost shouted.

"I'm not rubbing it in. I'm just saying….that's what we agreed. I've never had to do it until now, which is a good sign, but on this occasion I did need to take action."

Robin was now pacing back and forth in front of the desk. Strike couldn't help but enjoy the spectacle of her enviable figure, despite their current quarrel. "I know what we agreed Cormoran. But you don't know if you're actually right. And I just think you could have waited. Waited for me."

"Robin, for fuck sake," said Strike in frustration, "can you please just accept this? I will call Culpepper to confirm and then we can move on." His voice was louder than before and he found himself unable to contain his irritation. Irritation with the argument and with his lustful thoughts.

"Yeah, let's just move on!" repeated Robin, flinging her arms out and sighing. "I'm so pissed off right now," and she waved her hand at Strike dismissively, moving to leave the room.

"Really? You don't say," he replied sarcastically.

Robin changed her direction and turned around again. "D'you know what Cormoran?"

"What?" Now Strike folded his arms across his chest.

Robin approached again and was now gripping the back of her chair. "Maybe…maybe I need to think about whether I…." She stopped abruptly, unable to utter the words she couldn't believe she had even thought. _Whether I should leave…._

"Whether you what?" asked Strike, who now stood up and leaned towards her over the desk, their eyes practically level and challenging each other.

"Nothing," replied Robin timidly, averting her eyes from Strike's glare.

"Robin, just fucking say it. Say it."

"Leave me alone." Robin turned to exit the room.

"Oh yeah. 'Leave me alone,'" said Strike in a fake voice. "How many times have I heard that, eh?"

Robin turned back, fire in her eyes and her face. "Not from me, you haven't. What are you talking about?" There was a long pause. "I am not Charlotte," she said quietly.

"No, you certainly are not."

The words just came spilling out of their own accord. Strike astonished even himself. Silence.

Robin could feel tears welling up. I must not cry. I must NOT fucking cry. She turned on her heels and hurried out to her desk, slamming the inner office door behind her.

Strike picked up a pen from his desk and threw it across the room, utterly furious with himself. He then strode across his room, wrenching open the door so that the hinges nearly came off.

"Robin…."

"Just fuck off Cormoran."

Strike was rendered speechless for a moment. "Did you just tell me to fuck off?"

"Yes, are you deaf?"

Strike laughed, a) because he was shocked and b) for the way fuck came out as "fook" in Robin's native Yorkshire accent.

"Well I think that's a first. And remember it came from you," he said as he pointed at Robin. "Surely a landmark in any relationship when the first "fuck off" is said."

"Relationship? Call this a relationship, when you just do what you want without any reference to me?" Robin was sitting at her desk, viciously opening the mail with the letter opener.

Strike slumped down on the farting sofa and ran his hands through his hair. He had softened and his eyes had a hint of pleading in them. Dark body hair was sprouting out from the top of his shirt and between the shirt buttons at his belly. At that point, Robin suddenly found him irresistibly masculine, attractive, tempting and had to look away.

"Robin, please, I didn't just do this on a whim or to annoy you. We agreed I could make these decisions," said Strike as calmly as he could muster.

"I'm going out. I can't look at you." Robin rose from her desk and moved towards the coat stand.

Strike gestured towards the door. "Go on then. Suits me, cos this is getting right on my thrups."

Robin struggled to put on her coat. "And something else. I think we should be taking more money out. I feel skint all the time when I know there's money in the business account, building up for no good reason." Her tone was accusatory.

"You know that would need a serious discussion Robin. And you've never mentioned it was bothering you," commented Strike.

"Well I'm saying it now, aren't I?" retorted Robin quickly, still trying to find the sleeve of her coat behind her.

"Jesus fucking Christ…." Strike ran his hands down over his face.

Robin found herself powerless to stop. Pent up tension came surging out of her mouth, like a torrent. "And while we're at it, would you stop finishing all the milk without saying….. And the biscuits….. And the teabags."

Strike had now risen to his feet again and was within touching distance of Robin. Her coat was now fully on and she was facing Strike directly, attempting to tie her belt and failing.

"Anything else? What about the toilet seat? Am I leaving that up too often?" Strike asked cuttingly.

"Yeah, you do actually." Robin's eyes were shining with tears.

"Well maybe you keep leaving it down. Ever thought of it like that?" he challenged.

"Right now I hate you," snapped Robin, focusing on the floor to avoid looking at Strike. Staring at the floor to avoid looking into those eyes….

Strike just wanted to grab Robin in a fierce embrace, which he knew would be the worst thing he could ever do. But perversely, this urge somehow made his mouth even more undisciplined.

"Am I leaving my dirty clothes on the floor? Not putting them in the laundry basket properly?" Strike persisted.

"Piss off, you bastard."

"That's original."

Robin's tears were now spilling down her cheeks, while she grabbed her bag and opened the outer door to leave. The door slammed.

Strike closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers over them, unable to believe the things he had just said. What a fucking prick. A prize wanker. He felt like punching a hole in the nearest wall. He yanked open the outer door and leaned over the stairwell to see Robin's golden hair bounding down the bottom set of stairs.

"Robin…."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They did not speak to each other for several days.

Robin came to accept that what Strike had done with Munro was reasonable in the circumstances, but she couldn't stop thinking about some of his words.

 _Surely a landmark in any relationship when the first "fuck off" is said._ In hindsight, Robin had to laugh at that one. She remembered when she had first said those words to Matthew, which was much later in their relationship than she should have!

 _Anything else? What about the toilet seat? Am I leaving that up too often?_ The classic gripe between men and women sharing facilities. Juvenile and petty. Point scoring.

 _I do have much more experience than you Robin._ That was true and Strike hadn't said it to hurt her. It was just a practical fact.

 _Charlotte - No, you certainly are not._ A curveball. But what did it actually mean? No, you will never be Charlotte, could never hope to be Charlotte, could never ever take her place? Or, you are nothing like Charlotte because she was an absolute bitch and you're not and never could be?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike tried to get on with his scheduled work of the next few days. He was sorely tempted to call and text Robin, but he held back. Think about it first, let things cool down, he told himself. Nevertheless, some of her words were still ringing in his ears.

 _Just fuck off Cormoran._ Brilliant.

 _And while we're at it, would you stop finishing all the milk without saying….. And the biscuits….. And the teabags._ Dear God, why did women drag up these things as part of bigger arguments? The way their minds work is a total mystery.

 _Right now I hate you._ I don't think Robin actually meant that one. I hope she didn't. I truly hope she didn't. But maybe she did. Was I really that horrible?

 _Maybe…maybe I need to think about whether I…._ But what was Robin about to say just then? Whether I should? Punch you across the face? Stab you with my letter opener? Whether I should kiss you right now? Nope, don't think so. Whether I should stop taking the Tube in the mornings? Whether I should stay? Leave? No, she can't leave. I couldn't bear it. Just couldn't.

And as for his own words, well, _Charlotte - No, you certainly are not._ What the fuck…..? What must Robin be thinking about that one?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Miserable didn't even begin to describe how Robin felt for the rest of the week. She went in and out the office quickly and efficiently, never lingering more than she had to and never venturing near to the inner office. On the one occasion when she actually saw Strike, she simply said "Good Morning."

Robin went home each night and re-ran their argument in her head over and over again. The result never changed. They were still not talking. She cried at least once each evening and then scolded herself for doing so. What the hell was this? I'm not even in a relationship with this person and I'm crying like a baby over a stupid row.

The next day, Robin made some purchases before she travelled home. Despite the current state of affairs, she wouldn't dream of not recognising the upcoming special occasion.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike appeared in the office as required, but truth be told, he was deliberately staying out more than he should. Any excuse would do. Longer surveillance than absolutely required, longer lunches, writing up notes on his laptop in the flat rather than downstairs, more drinks in the pub. How was he going to overcome this impasse with Robin?

Fuck it. After his fourth pint, Strike picked up his phone and prepared to write a text. After some clumsy one fingered typing, he pressed send.

Robin was making some cheese on toast in the kitchen at home. When ready, she took it to her room and sat down in her easy chair to consume it. Afterwards she would no doubt resume her melancholia until she dropped off to sleep. She eyed up her purchases – I must sort them out for tomorrow.

Beep beep. Her mobile phone interrupted her train of thought. A message from Cormoran:

"Robin, I'm sorry. Cx PS I've finished the milk."

Robin laughed. And then cried. Again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was Friday evening. There had been no response from Robin to Strike's text message from the previous night and there had been no sign of her in the office the entire day. Nothing, nil, zero, fuck all. Well if that's how she wants to play it, fine. For want of anything better to do, Strike shut up the office and made his way to the Tottenham. Why not get bladdered? He ordered a pint of Doom Bar and a whisky and settled at a small table at the back.

After half an hour, a soft voice asked, "Is this seat taken?" Strike looked up and said, "Yes, it's reserved."

Robin started to turn away, when Strike continued, "For someone who doesn't hate me." Robin laughed and sat down with her large white wine.

"Happy Birthday Cormoran," said Robin. She placed a card and a bottle bag on the table in front of Strike.

"Thanks. You remembered," said Strike.

"Of course I did," replied Robin, smiling.

Strike peered inside the bag and discovered a bottle of Barolo red wine. "Yeeeessss! Very nice Robin. Very, very nice. I know this isn't cheap."

Robin blushed. "Just like pink champagne," she replied.

Strike then opened the card, a funny one, and laughed at the joke. Robin had signed it "Happy Birthday. Rx." Also inside was a yellow post-it note on which Robin had written "Cormoran, I'm sorry too. Rx". Strike closed the card and held it fondly between his two hands for some moments. He then looked at Robin with that heart melting, searching gaze which got her every time. She swallowed the lump in her throat and picked up her wine to drink some more.

After a few more silent seconds, Robin said a bit shakily, "I said things I shouldn't have and I'm sorry for that. I really hate it when we're not talking. I want to be….," she sighed, "…friends again."

Strike reached over the table and took Robin's hand in his. "I'm also guilty as charged. I'm sorry for what I said too." He paused. "Let's forget it and ….be friends again."

Savouring the feeling of Strike's touch, Robin beamed back, "Agreed."

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	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"Cormoran?"

"Yeah?" Strike was in the office kitchen making tea.

"Mum was asking what you're doing for Christmas this year. She wanted to invite you up to Masham."

"Really?" Strike turned around to look at Robin sitting at her desk.

"Yes, really." Robin smiled.

"Well, erm, that's very kind of your Mum to ask, but…."

Robin held up her hands. "I promised I would ask you, but don't feel obliged at all. I can make something up and let Mum down gently. Honestly, I can imagine the thought of a Christmas in Masham is probably horrific for you."

"No, no, it's not that," said Strike. "It's just that I've already got two invites this year, from Lucy and Nick and Ilsa. I haven't decided on which one I'm going to yet and I just think it would be awkward to turn down both of those at this stage….erm….sorry…..you know what I mean, don't you?"

"Of course. Anyway, I already warned Mum that you would probably being going to Lucy's. It's fine."

"Christ, I feel bad now." Strike had approached Robin's desk and looked at her intently as he said, "Please tell your Mum thanks very much for thinking of me. It's really very generous. I don't know what I've done to deserve it."

"Yeah, search me!" laughed Robin, trying to mask her shivers in response to Strike's stare. "Although Mum seems to be your biggest fan these days. She's always asking after you and back in the summer, she….."

Strike waited for a few moments before asking, "You were saying?"

"Erm…..it's not important." Robin blushed and lowered her eyes. Shit! Why did her face always give her away?

Strike raised his eyebrows and knit them together in a quizzical knot, but then just shrugged.

"That reminds me, what are WE doing for Christmas? Shall we have a night out or what?" he asked.

"Ooooh, a night out. Get you!" said Robin in a mocking, haughty tone.

"I can be quite sociable when I want to be," replied Strike defensively.

"Yes, I know you can." Robin laughed.

"So, what d'you think? Or would you rather have a lunch?"

"Well, I think we've left it too late to be honest. We won't get a reservation at a decent restaurant at this stage."

"Yeah, you're probably right," replied Strike, scratching his beard.

"Why don't we just go out for a wander on Christmas Eve? I'm getting the train up north later that day. I could bring all my stuff in early in the morning and then I'll be ready to go for the train later."

"Aren't you driving?" asked Strike.

"I thought about it, but then the roads will probably be chock-a-block with traffic. And on the way back. And I don't really need a car in Masham because I always drive Mum's car. So I just booked train tickets a while back."

"Right. A Christmas Eve pub crawl it is then. Sounds good to me." Strike smiled, then turned and walked back into his room.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Christmas Eve arrived and Robin was excited. She had carefully packed her Christmas gifts and clothes for her nine day trip back to Yorkshire. She had also risen early to do her hair, make up and clothes for the day. It might only be a pub crawl, but Robin wanted to look her best. For herself of course, but also for Strike. God, I'm behaving like a teenage girl she thought, looking in the mirror.

Robin was conscious that she would be travelling later in the day, so she put on dark jeans, heeled ankle boots, a top and some bright jewellery. Her top was dark green, with long sleeves, a deep v-neck and sparkly embellishment along the edges of the neckline. It was slightly transparent, so Robin wore a black camisole underneath. She couldn't decide whether to wear her hair up or down, so opted for down. She curled the ends of her hair a little to create some waves. To complete her look, she donned a black faux-fur fitted coat and a mottled, silk-like scarf. She surveyed her reflection in the mirror. Does he ever notice me beyond work and cases, she wondered?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

For his part, Strike was deciding between two shirts, both new. Why am I bothered with this? he thought. It's only a pub crawl. No-one is the least bit interested in what I'm wearing for Christ's sake. But then Robin will be her usual gorgeous self, so better make an effort. I don't want to let her down. He chose a new, but casual white shirt. He always thought he looked best in a white shirt, although he was usually wearing one with a suit and tie, so maybe that was the reason rather than the shirt. Whatever.

Strike then showered and trimmed and shaved carefully around his usual facial growth. He then donned his new shirt and his best jeans and carried his coat downstairs to the office. Does she ever notice me beyond the jobs and the files, he pondered?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Robin appeared in the office, she was dragging her suitcase and had an extra bag around her shoulders. She positioned them in the corner before removing her coat and slumping in her chair. There would be a few hours of work to be done before they went out. Strike emerged from his office.

"You're looking very nice today Robin. Going somewhere special?" he joked. He had to make a joke to disguise his true reactions, an intake of breath, extra beating going on somewhere in his chest. _That colour of green is a perfect contrast against her hair. She is utterly gorgeous. Why was I sent this beautiful creature to sit in my office and turn my world upside down?_

"Yes, very special. It's my Christmas day out," Robin giggled. "You scrub up quite nicely yourself Mr Strike." She was also working hard to remain composed and shifted in her chair. _He's wearing a white shirt, my favourite. I don't know what it is about that colour on him, I think it's the contrast to the darkness of his features. Why do I suddenly find him so dishy, when I didn't think that a few years ago?_

"We'll work until about 12 o'clock and then we'll go. Does that suit you?" asked Strike.

"Yeah, sure."

Inevitably, the day out started in the Tottenham. It was already busy with revellers and they stood near the bar, already on their second drinks.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," said Strike.

"Now there's a surprise," quipped Robin.

"Just you watch it," replied Strike, looking at Robin with a mock scowl on his face. She dissolved into laughter, the wine already having a relaxing effect. _I just love it when she laughs. It's irresistible. I feel it rubbing off on me, rubbing off on everyone. Today is going to be dangerous._

"Well, why don't we move on for food then? Can't have you being a grump because your belly's rumbling," said Robin teasingly.

"What variety of food would mademoiselle prefer?

"Oh you choose. I'm not bothered."

"Chinese?" offered Strike.

"Chinese? But you have that every week."

"Yeah, there's a reason for that. It's because I like it." Strike produced one of his cute smiles, which then turned into a chuckle. _Oh God, there it is. That adorable smile and those eyes that just turn my legs to jelly. My resolve has gone to pot already._

"Ok then," said Robin, accepting the inevitable.

Strike and Robin wandered towards Chinatown and soon found themselves ensconced in a Cantonese restaurant. Strike was recognised by the restaurant staff, who made a fuss over him.

"You seem to be popular in here?" said Robin, looking at Strike in curiosity.

"Erm yeah, I suppose I've been in here a few times."

"A few? They're treating you like royalty for heaven's sake."

Strike just smirked. They ordered drinks while they perused the menu and chose their respective starters and main courses.

"Well here's a challenge for you Cormoran. Can you eat all of your main course only with chopsticks?"

"In a word, no."

"Oh come on. Will you not even try?" asked Robin, with a spark in her eyes.

"What's my reward if I do it?" asked Strike.

"Mmm, let me see," said Robin, as she rubbed her chin, thinking. "A kiss under the mistletoe in the office."

"We don't have any bloody mistletoe in the office."

"I know! Just testing."

"You are a minx, Robin Ellacott, d'you know that?" said Strike, looking at Robin with affection.

"When allowed." Robin fluttered her eyelashes in a mock gesture of flirtation.

Strike took a swig of his newly arrived beer while he stretched out his leg and made himself more comfortable in his seat. _Fuck. Now all I'll be thinking about is kissing those rosebud lips, which is never gonna happen._

Robin felt the brush of Strike's leg as he adjusted himself, but she didn't move and let the connection remain. _Bugger, what a bad joke. Now all I'll be thinking about is kissing Cormoran, which is as likely as flying to the moon._

The meal was served efficiently and Strike and Robin chatted and laughed their way through it. Never afraid of a challenge, Strike made an attempt to eat his main course with chopsticks.

"Bloody hell. How are you supposed to hold these things?" he asked, as he examined them.

"I think it's like this." Robin held the sticks in her own hands. "You hold the top one almost like a pencil. At least, I think that's the right way. Here, let me show you." Robin reached over and directed Strike's fingers around his own chopsticks.

"Yeah, that seems better. But I'd still rather use a knife and fork. There aren't enough hours in the day for this!"

Eventually, Strike finished his meal, determined to eat all of it with the chopsticks. _It's not just these bloody things, he thought. I can't take my eyes off_ _Robin's long, sleek neck, those collarbones, the hint of her cleavage, the generous swelling of her breasts under her blouse. Fuck, shit and fuck._

Robin had long ago finished her meal and just sat observing and laughing at Strike while he struggled with his. Eventually, Strike finished and Robin gave him some small applause.

"I'm very impressed Mr Strike. But I knew you could do it."

"It won't be repeated. At least it stopped me from wolfing the whole thing down too fast."

"True. Do you want any dessert? Tea or coffee?"

"Nah. Let's just get to another pub for more drinks," replied Strike.

"Agreed. I think you've more than earned it."

Strike settled the bill and they left the restaurant in search of some more Christmas drinks. They stumbled into a pub in Soho, where they settled in a corner which had luckily just become vacant. Strike ordered two drinks each to save pushing through the mass of customers too often.

"Right Miss Ellacott, now for your challenge. Down that drink in a one-er." He pointed to one of Robin's wine glasses.

"Oh Christ. I'm going to be so sozzled on the train tonight," moaned Robin.

"No excuses."

"Ok."

Robin picked up one of the glasses, took a deep breath and steadily drank down the wine. When she had finished, she grimaced as if in pain.

Strike chuckled. "Why do you drink that stuff if you don't like it? You look as though you've just swallowed castor oil or something."

"I do like it. Just not in such a hurry. Honestly, I will be paraletic before long."

Strike laughed again. "You have to build up some resistance and that takes practice. You need more practice."

"You volunteering to give me that?"

"Maybe." Strike looked at Robin fondly and she in return. _I do like his beard. I can imagine touching it, running my fingers over it to his Adam's apple. And his chest hair. It's so thick, so…. I'd love to feel that. Bugger and shit._

Strike and Robin moved on to two more Soho hostelries before deciding it was time to go back to the office, so Robin could catch her train. In between chatting, they were both caught up in their own thoughts.

Strike: _I am in such fucking deep shit. I'm thinking all of the things I've been telling myself not to all these months. It wouldn't take much for me to do something really stupid with Robin. This could turn out to be the best Christmas lunch and the worst one all at the same time. How does that work?_

Robin: _Where has my willpower gone? Down the drain. I'm going to say or do something to Cormoran that's totally inappropriate, I just know it. There'll be no going back. God help me._

At the office, Strike slouched down onto the sofa, his hair tousled like a small boy. Robin went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water.

"Would you like some water?" asked Robin.

"No thanks. That's cheating."

"Cheating?" Robin laughed. "You won't be saying that in the morning. I know I won't."

"You'll be fine. You can sleep it off on the train."

"Mum will give me one of her disapproving looks when she picks me up. I'll just tell her that it was all your fault and you're leading me astray. That'll be your fan club finished." Robin pointed over to Strike in a provocative fashion.

"Aw no! Don't do that. I love Linda's fan club. It's the only one I've got. You can't deprive a man of his fan club for fuck sake." Strike held out his hands in mock horror.

Robin started laughing hard and Strike responded in kind.

"I'll see what I can do," replied Robin, still giggling.

"Yeah, you'd better. Or I'll be phoning up Linda myself," retorted Strike.

Robin moved to lean against the kitchen partition. "Well, thanks for a lovely day Cormoran. I've really enjoyed myself."

"Me too Robin, me too. We should do this more often. Even when it's not Christmas."

 _Look at her. So shapely in those jeans. They must be painted on. I would just love to touch her golden hair, her face, her…..stop. Fucking STOP!_

"Yeah, we should. I'm going to remind you every week. Maybe every day."

 _Look at him sitting there. His hair all messy, but masculine and broad and hairy and those hands….Christ almighty. Would you have a word with yourself?_

Strike rose from the sofa a bit unsteadily. He walked through to his office. He had run out of cigarettes, but suspected he had a spare packet in his desk drawer.

Robin looked at her watch and realised the time.

"I think I need to be going now Cormoran. I have to think about the traffic and the cab getting to the train station at this time of day."

"Yeah, good thinking." Strike had now discarded his coat and was sitting in his office chair, raking through his drawers.

Robin went to retrieve her suitcase and extra holdall from the corner and placed them by the door. She then tidied away some files and items on her desk and walked slowly into Strike's office.

"Right, that's me off then. I'll see you on the 3rd January."

Strike stood up. "Well, I hope you have a great time. Enjoy the break, cos you know January will be busy with wall to wall divorce work."

"Of course, yeah, can't wait," said Robin rolling her eyes. "You enjoy yourself too. I know it's not your favourite time, but… y'know. Is it Lucy's you're going to?"

"Yes, Lucy's."

They stood awkwardly for a few moments. _Sod it._ "Listen, let's do this properly," said Robin eagerly.

She moved across the floor towards Strike and then leaned her head into his chest, snaking her arms around his torso and giving him a light squeeze. "Merry Christmas Cormoran." She then loosened her hold, reached up to give him a quick peck on his left cheek and looked into his eyes, smiling.

Strike had momentarily frozen. But without thinking, his hand had come up to rest on Robin's shoulder, right in her hair. "Merry Christmas Robin." He looked into her eyes, so warm and open and inviting. _Fuck it. I just can't stop this._ He started to lean down, his mouth preparing to capture those rosebud lips…..

RAP RAP RAP RAP came the sudden banging on the outer office door.

Robin jumped in fright. "Shit."

"Who... The... Fuck... Is... That?" asked Strike slowly and deliberately, his head pointing to the ceiling, eyes closed and his hand still entangled in Robin's hair.

"No idea."

"Leave it. I am not answering at this time on Christmas Eve," said Strike, almost in anger.

RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP came the noise on the door even more persistently than before. Robin jumped again.

"Look, I'll get it. They'll see my suitcase and they'll surely get the message." Robin pulled away and made for the office door.

"Robin…" Strike called after her, a noticeable pleading tone in his voice.

"It's fine," she called back. "Probably just some courier or something."

Strike couldn't think of enough swear words to curse his bad luck, bad timing, bad karma, bad everything. Soon, he could hear an exchange of female voices and walked through to the outer office.

"Cormoran, erm, there's someone here to see you," said Robin in a soft voice.

Strike could already see who the unwelcome visitor was. He felt his heart fall to his feet. "Charlotte….."

Robin glanced from Strike to Charlotte and back again three times over. Nobody said a word for several seconds.

"Look, I, erm, I really need to go for my train Cormoran," said Robin picking up her bags. "Nice to meet you Charlotte. Have a good Christmas. Both of you. Erm, each of you," she quickly corrected. "Bye then."

Robin beat a hasty retreat out of the office, dragging her suitcase alongside and closing the door behind her. Strike was still rooted to the same spot, in shock, trying desperately to digest this bizarre turn of events.

"Bluey…."

"Hang on a minute, will you?" he asked, flustered.

Strike yanked open the outer office door and once again leaned over the stairwell. Robin's distinctive hair was only just visible at the bottom of the building.

"Robin….." he bellowed, but she was already gone. He then whispered to himself, "I don't fucking believe this."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thanks for reading. I won't be around for a few weeks, so I hope you enjoy this.

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	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Strike was once again in his small flat. It was now 10.30 in the evening. He took off his coat and slumped onto his settee. All the joy from the earlier part of the day now seemed like a very distant memory, sucked into some black abyss somewhere. How could a perfectly happy day turn into something weird, uncertain and downright bloody frustrating?

Strike rose to go to the kitchen and poured himself a large whisky. God, I need this, big time. He returned to his spot on the sofa and pulled out his phone. I need to contact Robin and try to make things right. He started to type –

 _Robin, sorry about office situation earlier. Cx_ No, too ambiguous. **DELETED**

 _Robin, sorry about Charlotte turning up earlier. Cx_ No, doesn't explain about Charlotte enough. **DELETED**

 _Robin, did you make it to Yorkshire ok? Sorry about the situation when you left the office. You didn't have to leave actually. Cx_ Maybe? Still doesn't explain what happened with Charlotte. **DELETED**

 _Robin, you might have noticed, I was about to kiss you earlier. I was. And I would have. I've been wanting to do it for ages. I can't believe what happened. Cx_ Fuck, far too honest. What if she didn't see it like that? **DELETED**

 _Robin, I love you. Cx_ No, not in a text. Too huge. **DELETED**

 _Robin, sorry about Charlotte turning up earlier. She was just up to her old tricks again. She is fighting with Jago and said she wanted to get back with me. I told her it's never going to happen. I took her to one of her friends in a cab, but that was it. Cx_ Better. But what if she wasn't even bothered about what Charlotte was up to? Maybe she couldn't care less? **DELETED**

 _Robin, I'm so crap at this. I don't know what to say about earlier. Did you get to Yorkshire ok? Cx_ Maybe? **DELETED**

Strike thought about calling Robin. What would he say? What does anyone say after a night like tonight? Without being able to see her face, it was so difficult to find the right words.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robin arrived at York station after a noisy journey. The train had been packed with people and luggage, but at least she had a booked seat. She had tried to think her way through the earlier confusion, but mingled with the effects of too much wine, she had actually slept most of the way. Linda was waiting patiently, but taking one look at a tired, weary and drunk Robin, she simply gave her a hug and drove them both home to Masham.

After taking some painkillers, Robin went to bed, promising to be better company in the morning. However, after a few hours' sleep, she awoke at 3am. She checked her phone, but there was nothing. What really happened last night? I am so confused. Maybe I should text first?

 _Cormoran, I'm sorry I left so abruptly. Rx_ No, too general. **DELETED**

 _Cormoran, I'm sorry I left so abruptly, but I felt I had to. Rx_ Mmm, maybe he wanted me to leave him and Charlotte together anyway? **DELETED**

 _Cormoran, what happened with Charlotte? Rx_ No, too nosy. **DELETED**

 _Cormoran, did we nearly kiss earlier? I'm a bit confused. Rx_ No, maybe we didn't. **DELETED**

 _Cormoran, I have feelings for you. Rx_ No, too…? Just not right. **DELETED**

 _Cormoran, I've been scared to tell you because I don't want to lose you, lose everything. I love you. I don't know what to do about it. Rx_ No, not for a text message. Too out there. **DELETED**

 _Cormoran, what happened with Charlotte? Are you back together again? She really is the most beautiful woman. Rx_ Oh God. Would he really go back to her? **DELETED**

 _Cormoran, it all got a bit strange earlier. Got to Yorkshire safely. Rx_ Maybe? **DELETED**

Nothing worked. Maybe she would call him tomorrow.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The following days came and went. Strike celebrated Christmas with Lucy, Greg and the kids and Robin was together with her parents, brothers and dog. On the surface, they both enjoyed themselves, but their heads were really elsewhere, thinking about each other.

Each day was filled with indecision about whether to text or call, but no conclusion could ever be reached on either side. Several nights were sleepless. Even on those that weren't, their thoughts were taken up with memories of Christmas Eve, the happy day spent together and the "moment" that was nearly a moment but maybe wasn't after all.

Strike dreamt of Robin's arms around him, her impromptu peck on his cheek, her bewitching eyes and lips, her velvety hair.

Robin repeatedly dwelt on various thoughts - Strike's warmth, his smell, his hand playing with her hair, his eyes meeting hers, his lips approaching…Bugger, bugger, bugger. Did that really happen? Am I imagining this? He's probably snogging Charlotte right now.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was New Year's Eve and Strike was at Nick and Ilsa's for their traditional, end of year soiree. He had never felt less like going to a party in his life. He knew there would be eligible women there, conveniently invited in the hope of a match, but he had absolutely no interest in them. He tried to make the obligatory small talk for a while, but then wandered out to the far away back garden bench, using his nicotine habit as an excuse.

After a while, Ilsa came to sit beside him. "Cormoran, what's up?"

"Nothing, I'm just fine."

"Mmmm, come on, you're not fine. Remember how long I've known you."

"Forever."

"Yes, exactly. What is it? You've had about 10 bottles of beer and you're usually more talkative than this. Even when you're not in the mood, you talk more than this. Tell me."

Strike sighed. "Sorry. I know I'm a bit of a wet blanket tonight."

"Don't say sorry. You're my oldest friend. Just tell me what it is."

Strike closed his eyes and took some heavy breaths in and out.

Ilsa persisted. "It can't be that bad surely. Is it a woman? You've hardly even glanced at any of the girls here tonight."

"No, sorry, not in the hook-up mood."

"So what is it then?"

Strike sighed again. "I've really messed something up. I don't know how to fix it."

"What? Something at work?" asked Ilsa.

"No, it's not work. Work related maybe, but not work."

"God, this is so cryptic. Come on, spill. I won't tell Nick if you don't want me to."

"It's Robin," confessed Strike after a long pull on his cigarette.

"Yeah?"

"We…..I….we nearly kissed. Well it was really me, but I think she was responding. I think….but can't be totally sure. It was the day of our Christmas lunch and drinks. It was all going great. Robin was getting ready to go for her train up to Yorkshire and then…."

"And then?" prodded Ilsa.

"And then, I…it… nearly happened, but Charlotte turned up, banging on the office door." Strike took another drag of nicotine.

Ilsa's eyes widened. "Charlotte? Bloody hell."

"We didn't know it was her at the door, but she was persistent. Robin let her in and, well, it all got really awkward. Then of course, Robin being Robin, she politely said she had to go for her train and she said bye and left."

"What happened with Charlotte?"

"She was in a bit of a state, but all the usual fucked up stuff. I could have written the script. Her and Jago are fighting again, she's moved out, she's always loved me, I'm the only one for her, the only one who understands her, can we get back together, it's destiny, it will all be different this time, not like before, blah, blah, blah." Strike paused for a breath. "I ended up getting her into a cab and taking her to one of her friends. Nothing more."

"And have you spoken to Robin since?" asked Ilsa.

Strike shook his head. "No. I've nearly called and texted her a thousand times, but I don't know what to say. The whole thing was bizarre. How do I explain about Charlotte in a text message? "Oh, just in case you were thinking, I'm not back with Charlotte." It's just not the right thing to say. What if she's not thinking that at all? Or, "Sorry I nearly kissed you, sorry we were interrupted, but can I try again sometime?" What if she didn't even realise that's what was happening? We'd both had a skinful." Again, Strike paused and sighed heavily. "I mean, you just can't write these things down, can you? And even if I was to call her, I couldn't explain it properly either. It needs to be face to face and even then….." Strike trailed off. "And the more days pass by, the worse it gets too. I don't know what to do. I'm fucked Ilsa. I've totally fucked it up."

"I'm sure you haven't. You couldn't have predicted that Charlotte would turn up, for God's sake."

"Still, it's a total fuck up isn't it?"

"Do you love Robin?"

Strike thought for a few moments. "I think so."

"You think so?"

"Well…erm…what do you call it when you can't stop thinking about her, when you just want to be with her, when you have a laugh together, when it's just easy, when you can have a big argument but it doesn't become World War 3, when you miss her when she's not there, when she's bloody gorgeous and you fancy her rotten and just…"

"Yeah, I get the picture. You love her. Ok."

Strike rubbed his eyes for the hundredth time that night.

"What am I going to do Ilsa? Really, I don't have a fucking clue." Strike looked at his friend with a pleading look.

"It's quite simple really. You need to tell her how you feel."

"Oh brilliant. Why didn't I think of that? Dead easy," replied Strike in a sarcastic tone.

"I didn't say easy, I said simple," replied Ilsa.

"You're being pedantic I think."

"Come on Corm. You know the answer yourself. I don't need to tell you. Just pluck up some courage and find a way to tell her."

"But the whole reason I can't find the courage is because I'm shit scared that she doesn't feel the same and then I'll lose her, she'll leave. Or we start something and it doesn't work out and she'll leave. Either way…" he shrugged.

Ilsa looked at Strike and smiled. "Y'know, for someone who is so intelligent, methodical and logical, you've really lost it on this one. It's quite amusing actually."

"Great. You just have a good laugh at my expense, why don't you?" Strike lit up another cigarette.

"I'm not laughing at you Corm. You know I would never do that." Ilsa reached over and put her arm around Strike's shoulder. "It's just….I've never seen you quite so bewildered over a woman before. With Charlotte, it was all melodrama, war and peace, hot and cold, fight and makeup, blood and thunder. With anyone else, you always seemed pretty cool, nonchalant. This seems different."

"Yeah, I know. That's why I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to do."

Ilsa thought for a time. "Look, I think I know Robin reasonably well by now. She's not going to leave or do anything to jeopardise your business. She's as passionate about it as you are. And I think she quite likes you too. I can't be totally sure, but I've seen the signs there and she's not seeing anyone, is she? And if you start something and it doesn't work out, then…..actually I can't see it not working out. You two are great together. Everyone thinks so. Everyone apart from you two that is! Y'know, we should stage an intervention."

Strike laughed. "Yeah, please do."

"You'll work it out. Things will unfold and I'm sure something will just happen. You'll see. But don't leave it too long," said Ilsa.

"Should I ask Nick for some advice?" asked Strike.

"Oh God no. He'll probably tell you to drive up to Yorkshire right now and propose immediately!"

"He always was a big softy," chuckled Strike.

"Yup, that's him all over, but I love him just the same." Ilsa took Strike's arm. "Right, now it's time to cheer the fuck up and come back in and join us."

Strike smiled. "Ok. Thanks Ilsa."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

On New Year's Eve, Robin was in her parent's home. She had been encouraged and cajoled and pushed to go out to a party being held by a friend of Martin's, but it held no appeal whatsoever. She eventually convinced her family that she was perfectly happy to stay home, relax, watch TV and have some drinks before seeing in the Bells.

After midnight came and went and all the kisses and best wishes were exchanged, Robin's father Michael excused himself and went up to bed. Robin's mum Linda poured another couple of wines for herself and her daughter.

"Robin, is everything ok? You've seemed a little bit off on this visit," she said tentatively.

"Yes of course, I'm fine Mum."

"Are you sure? It's me you're talking to."

"Yes, I'm sure."

Robin turned back to watch the television.

"What's Cormoran doing tonight? Is he at Lucy's again? Or is he at his friends' house?" asked Linda.

"I don't know actually. Nick and Ilsa's I should think."

"It's a shame he couldn't come up this year. But maybe next time, eh?"

"Yeah, maybe," replied Robin.

They both sat in silence for about 10 minutes, just gazing at the TV, although not really watching it.

"Robin, are you really alright? I know there's something," Linda persisted.

Robin sighed. "There's nothing."

"Is it work?"

"No."

"Is it Cormoran?"

"Mum please, I don't want to talk about it." Robin put her hands to her mouth to cover the anguish which had suddenly come over her. But some tears had escaped down her face.

"Robin…." Linda moved along the sofa to put her arms around her.

"It's really nothing. It's stupid," said Robin, furiously wiping away her tears.

"Well tell me anyway. Maybe I can help?" offered Linda.

"It's just….it's just…..God, I don't believe this is happening. It's really silly, honestly it is."

"It can't be if it bothers you so much."

"Please don't tell anybody. Not even Dad."

"Promise," replied Linda.

"I like Cormoran…..a lot…..and last week, we were out for a Christmas lunch and we were getting on like a house on fire and then…..we sort of had a moment and then…Cormoran's old girlfriend turned up out of the blue." Robin closed her eyes as if in pain.

"Right, I see," said Linda.

"I don't even know if it was a…..a thing. I thought he was about to kiss me, but now I really don't know. And you should see Charlotte, his ex, she is so stunning, it's unbelievable."

"Nonsense. She can't possibly be as stunning as you," chuckled Linda.

"Oh trust me Mum, she's on another level." Robin shook her head.

"But he's not with her and hasn't been now for a while, right? There must be good reasons for that."

"Yeah, they were always fighting apparently. Very tempestuous. But he's probably back with her now, isn't he?" Robin could feel more tears pricking at her eyes.

"Look Robin, I've told you I've always thought there was something between you both, so I'm actually not surprised at what you're telling me. And I bet he was about to kiss you. Why wouldn't he? It's about time."

Robin laughed and sniffed back the mess coming down her nose. "But what do I do now? There was this moment that maybe wasn't and then she turned up and I just rushed out the door for my train. I didn't know what else to do. What do you say after that? Do you say anything at all? Just pretend it didn't happen? Of course, it doesn't help that I'm here and he's there. It really needs a face to face chat. But even then…"

"You're making this so much more difficult than it has to be. Both of you!" scolded Linda.

"Yeah, I know that deep down, but it still doesn't stop me doing and thinking stupid stuff."

"Do you love him?" asked Linda.

After a few seconds, Robin nodded. "Yes, I think I do. He's really great Mum, in so many ways. A bit scruffy, but I quite like that and he can be really funny and humorous when he opens up. I just want to be with him all the time and I miss him and….. God listen to me. I'm embarrassed now." Robin covered her eyes in shame.

"Your Dad was always a bit scruffy too. But so damned cute!" replied Linda.

"Aw Mum! What are you like?" laughed Robin.

Linda laughed too and then said, "It'll work out. It will Robin. If it doesn't, I'll be down on the next train to bang your heads together."

"Better sort it then, eh?" said Robin, as she hugged Linda tightly.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At 2am, there was an exchange of text messages –

 _Happy New Year Cormoran. Rx_

 _Happy New Year Robin. Cx_

Robin truly hoped it would be a happy year, as she had to make a very important phone call as soon as she returned to London.

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	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

It was January 3rd and Robin was due back at work. She was very distracted and her usual morning routines seemed to be more difficult than usual. The shower was lukewarm, she had to iron a blouse, her hairdryer wasn't working (until she realised it wasn't switched on at the wall) and there was no bread in the house to have even one slice of toast. It was going to be one of those days where nothing goes right. And today of all days, the day she had been looking forward to and dreading all at the same time.

Robin made her way to the Tube station. It was raining and cold. Now all she needed was for the Tube to be off or running late. That would really put the tin lid on her day which had barely even started. She heaved a sigh of relief when she noted that despite being busy, the trains appeared to be running as normal.

There were two issues dominating Robin's thoughts, as they had done already for days. Strike. How would he be towards Robin, how would she be towards him? And her important phone call. For the former, Robin had decided that she would play it cool and see how things progressed. She was not going to ask any questions other than the perfunctory "nice holiday" type stuff and she would react depending on what Strike did. For the latter, she needed to look at her office diary for the coming few weeks to see when she had available time.

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Strike rose early after yet another night of fitful sleep. He had drunk too much the night before, which wasn't unusual, but was never a good idea on a weekday night with work beckoning the next day. And possibly not a wise decision when he knew that Robin would also be appearing tomorrow. And yet he had to soften the sharp edge of the apprehension he had been feeling over the events of Christmas and their consequences. Or, so far at least, apparent lack of consequences.

Strike had been working over the festive period and had already started the year's work the previous day. This only served to emphasise how much he missed Robin as he sat in the office alone most of the time. He rose from his desk to make some tea, but noticed that all of the kitchen staples, tea, coffee, milk, sugar and biscuits were low or nearly finished. That wouldn't please Robin, so Strike put on his coat and headed out to replenish the stocks. Apart from anything, an early trip out might calm his nerves a bit.

There was only one central thought occupying his mind. Robin. How would she behave towards Strike, how would he behave towards her? Strike had resolved that he would be circumspect and try to behave as usual. He was not going to offer any explanations unless asked and he would react depending on what Robin did. Despite Ilsa's good advice, he wasn't quite ready to take the plunge into a heavily charged conversation or weighty disclosures.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robin rounded the corner of Denmark Street on her way from the underground. Looking ahead, she suddenly thought she could see a familiar head of unruly hair, a coat she could recognise on the darkest of nights, and a gait that only belonged to one person. It was Strike. He was walking ahead of Robin, but in the same direction so wouldn't see her. Despite this, Robin ducked into the nearest shop doorway.

Her heart was pounding. Normally, Robin would have run to catch up and walked with Strike into the building and up the stairs to the office. Why could she not do that today? Her reaction was totally ridiculous. If she was feeling this way now, how would she feel going into the office to actually face the man who haunted her dreams? Yet, maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this gave her a chance to calm her butterflies and reddening face and appear positively serene when she did take those frightening steps into the office. Yes, deep breaths, deep breaths. Act normal. Nothing has changed, so don't change the way that you are.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robin entered the office, removed her coat and hung it up with her bag, as usual. Strike had braced himself as he heard Robin's steps coming up the final stairs. He too had inhaled deeply several times before striding across the floor and appearing in his office doorway, smiling.

"Good morning Robin."

"Good morning Cormoran." Robin smiled back.

"The kettle's just boiled if you want one…." Strike gestured towards the kitchen.

"Thanks. Yeah, I think I need one to get started. I wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders this morning."

"The first day back is always a killer. Take your time."

Strike retreated to his office, pleased that he had gotten those initial words out of his mouth. Robin proceeded to the kitchen to make herself something. She noticed that the tea supplies were full, as was the milk and everything else. She smiled to herself as she thought of Strike taking the time to attend to this minor job. Robin remembered griping about it in their big argument, but it was a very petty point which Strike had obviously listened to. This only made Robin feel warmer towards him, despite her earlier resolve to be cool.

Robin started up her computer and immediately opened up the office diary. She took a mental note of the times when she was still free over the following week, without any scheduled meetings or out of office work and surveillance. She had to make that phone call, but without Strike being within earshot. She would need to see how his movements went, so she checked Strike's diary. Mmm, he appeared to have a meeting out of the office at 11am so maybe that would work out. Just then, Strike appeared in his doorway again and walked over to sit on the couch.

"So how was Yorkshire, was it ok?" he asked, searching Robin's face.

"Yeah, good. Nothing too wild, I just took the time to relax really," she replied truthfully.

"Good. How are your parents? Did you thank your Mum for inviting me?"

"I did. They're both doing fine. And Mum was asking after you, as ever. Your fan club is quite safe, for now at least." Robin looked down at her desk and gave a small laugh to herself.

"Fantastic. I was really worrying about that," joked Strike.

"Yeah, right!" They both laughed, almost with relief at the ease of these initial, easy words between them.

"And how was it at Lucy's?" asked Robin.

"Oh, y'know, the usual. Boys climbing all over me and demanding my attention, mess everywhere, Greg being a bit annoying, Lucy being VERY annoying and trying to live my life for me….. She was asking after you, by the way."

"Awwww. You love them all really."

"Well I do, but they're just so full on. They never ever stop. It's enough to drive you to drink."

"Have you not managed that all by yourself?" quipped Robin, smirking.

"Cheeky!" said Strike, looking at Robin with a fake scowl.

"And what did you do on New Year's Eve?"

"Went to Nick and Ilsa's. What about you?"

"Oh, I just stayed with my parents. I was invited to a party with Martin, but I just couldn't be bothered with him and his daft friends."

"Yeah, I felt a bit the same going to Nick and Ilsa's this year, but I would have been shot if I hadn't turned up."

"What a pair of party animals we are, eh?" chuckled Robin.

For a brief moment, their eyes fully connected and they both looked at each other in suspenseful silence. Strike's resolve was about to crack. He now had a strong urge to say those loaded words "About Christmas Eve…"

But Robin intervened, "Anyway, I was just checking the office diary. I see there's a few new appointments in there."

"Yup. There were a few calls yesterday. Usual stuff. People thinking about divorce after Christmas, thinking their spouse is up to no good. And we're only going to get more of that stuff."

"I know. Mustn't grumble I suppose. It's still paying work after all."

"Yeah. I'll be going out for a meeting at a solicitor's office at 11. I don't know how long that will be. And then I'll be doing some surveillance," explained Strike.

"We'll I'll try to get on top of the admin again and then I'm due to go and tail Imelda late this afternoon. Can't wait to see her shoes today. She must have got some good ones for Christmas surely?" Robin rolled her eyes thinking about her latest client who had a particular penchant for shoes.

"Right. I'll catch up with you sometime later then," said Strike.

"Ok."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike left the office at 10.30. As soon as Robin heard his footsteps fading down the stairs, she pulled out her phone and dialled a number.

"Hello…Yes, I'd like to arrange an appointment please….."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that evening, Strike was getting ready for bed and replaying the events of the day in his mind. He was transported back to his teenage years, kissing a girl at a party, but then having to see her at school on the following Monday. The sweats, the butterflies in the stomach, the imagination running riot, would she be cold and ignore him, would she suddenly not like him anymore, would things be vastly different in this strange, new, post-kiss world?

Robin had seemed her usual self, nothing different in her attitude towards him. Perhaps the events of Christmas Eve were long forgotten by now. Perhaps for Robin it was just another day, of no special significance whatsoever. Strike could not detect any signs from her to the contrary. Fuck. Was that good or bad?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robin was already in bed, but not able to sleep for thinking about the day just about to finish. The appointment was made. Next Wednesday. The first step. No going back now.

And what about Strike? He seemed to be quite happy. Positive and chatty. Nothing was said about Christmas Eve, but she hadn't expected that anyhow. Robin did notice that no mention was made of Charlotte, no allusion to her being at Lucy's on Christmas Day, no reference to her accompanying Strike to Nick and Ilsa's on New Year's Eve. But again, Robin wouldn't have foreseen Strike imparting such knowledge voluntarily. Which still begged the question, were they back together? Robin was none the wiser. In fact, she could only conclude that Christmas Eve was a bit of an aberration, an anomaly and nothing romantic had actually happened except in her head. There was no progress. In fact, they had probably moved backwards.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next few weeks passed in a blur. Strike and Robin hardly had time to talk to each other. If one of them wasn't out doing surveillance work, the other was. When in the office, the appointments were coming thick and fast. In the moments when Strike thought he could have a chat with Robin, they were invariably interrupted by the telephone ringing or someone appearing at the door. Strike had texted Robin to suggest a Friday evening meeting in the Tottenham, but she had replied quickly to say she couldn't do it.

For Robin, these were circumstances that suited her very well. She could throw herself into work and try to distract herself from her forthcoming appointment and also from thoughts of Strike and Charlotte. For Strike, the bustle of the office was definitely not pleasing him at all. At any other time, yes, but not now. He wanted to find an opportunity to speak to Robin, to somehow engineer a conversation or a situation where he could discuss the Christmas Eve debacle and get past it. He still had no idea what he would do when the right moment arrived, but even finding a mutually convenient time was frustrating him no end.

After their initial chat when Robin had first arrived back to work, Strike had noticed a gradual change in her. She looked a bit pale and drawn, not her usual glowing self. Strike also caught her looking quite anxious and sad at certain moments, as though she might cry. Her behaviour was out of sorts, he thought - unusually quiet, not volunteering conversation freely, often distracted, not wholly listening, appearing to be miles away in her thoughts. Strike had asked her a few times in passing if she was ok, but she merely said yes, she was fine. But there was definitely something amiss and he wanted to know what it was.

Strike racked his brain every night, trying to figure it out. It could be anything. It could be feeling unwell, it could be man trouble, although Robin gave no signs of seeing a new boyfriend. Maybe something was wrong in her family, it could be too much work, or perhaps a reaction to the events prior to Christmas.

There was one other possibility, which Strike couldn't erase from his head. Robin was preparing to leave. That would be an understandable reaction after what had happened and Charlotte turning up. Strike hadn't contacted her since with any explanation, which he knew Robin would likely ruminate over. Christ, if he had known that it would lead to this, he would definitely have called Robin, regardless of the awkwardness involved. Hell, he would have travelled to Yorkshire to see her if necessary. But that ship had sailed. He had done nothing because of his own pitiful cowardice and now came the consequences.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was Thursday night and Strike had arrived home after another round of surveillance. After settling, he took out his phone. He was determined to do something about this.

"Hi Robin?"

"Hi Cormoran."

"Everything alright?"

"Yes, just fine."

"Can we meet up in the Tottenham tomorrow night?"

"Erm, no, sorry, I can't make it I'm afraid. I've got something on."

"Right. You can't rearrange it, can you? Cos we really need to catch up about work and the office."

"Erm…." Robin sighed heavily. "I really can't Cormoran. Not tomorrow. Sorry."

"Ok, don't worry. I'll be there, in the Tottenham tomorrow evening, so if your plans change then come and find me, won't you?"

"Yeah, ok, I will do."

"Goodnight then."

"Goodnight Cormoran."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike didn't go to The Tottenham the next evening. He didn't like what he was about to do, but he couldn't think of another way. He completed his work for the day and around 5.30pm, he locked the outer office door and switched off all the lights. He then sat at his desk in his inner office, with only a small corner lamp and the light from his laptop to illuminate the room. He surfed around on the internet, reading the news, but not really concentrating. He desperately hoped his plan would come off.

Robin had been in the office early morning, but had left to tail Imelda again. She was well aware that she was using just about any excuse to be out of the office as much as possible. She knew she was being evasive with Strike, and he was noticing, of course he would. But she just couldn't handle the thought of him at the moment, couldn't handle the emotions that he stirred up in her every day, relentlessly. The other difficulty in her life had grown enormously over the past week or so and she just didn't have enough space in her head to cope with it all. She felt really bad about lying to Strike, but she could only tell herself it was self-preservation.

Around 6pm, Robin climbed the stairs to the office, tired and jaded. She had paperwork which needed done, and she knew that Strike would be out at the pub for perhaps a few hours. The office was in darkness and she inserted the keys in the lock to open the door. She then entered, switched on the outer office lights and took off her coat. As she walked across the floor to her desk, she suddenly heard footsteps coming from Strike's office. She jumped and clutched at her chest.

"Cormoran! You scared the shit out of me! What….?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you Robin. Truly." Strike now stood at the kitchen.

"What's going on? You said you would be at the pub," said Robin puzzled.

"Yeah, sorry, I lied." Strike paused. "But I think you have too."

Robin could feel her face turning red.

"Yes, you're right. Sorry, I just….." Robin shrugged her shoulders, looking down at the floor.

"Robin, what is going on with you? I know something's wrong. Tell me, please."

"There's nothing wrong."

"Don't give me that Robin. I'm not stupid. There's something not right and I want to know what it is."

"Please Cormoran, don't…"

Robin had moved to sit in her chair, whilst Strike had walked over near the sofa.

"Why can't you tell me?" he persisted.

"There's nothing to tell. It's nothing."

Strike sank down onto the sofa.

"I don't believe you Robin. I really don't. You're not your normal self. You look pale. You've been really evasive and I'm worried. I'm really worried about you."

"Well don't be. There's nothing to worry about."

"Robin…..for fuck sake, just tell me. Why can't you tell me? Are we not friends?"

"Yeah, of course we're friends."

"Are you leaving?"

"What?" Robin looked even more perplexed.

"Are you leaving? Are you making moves to leave…here….and get another job?" Strike was staring directly at Robin, keen to elicit the truth even from her body language.

"No! Why would you think that Cormoran?"

"Because I don't know what else to fucking think, that's why," Strike replied sharply.

"That's stupid. Of course it's not that."

"Then, what the hell is it? Come on Robin."

"I can't tell you. I just can't." Robin was now deliberately looking down at her desk.

Strike rose from the couch and started pacing back and forth.

"I'm not letting you out of here until you tell me Robin. This is getting sorted here and now. Do you hear me?"

"No, just…stop it….stop harassing me and leave it."

"I will stop it, as soon as you tell me."

"It's personal Cormoran. Really personal. And you can't help. Nobody can."

"Well whatever it is, it's clearly having a major effect on you. I must be able to do something, surely. Give advice or…."

"No, you can't do anything to help. I can't even do anything about it myself really."

"For fuck sake, this is just getting worse," said Strike, pulling his hands down over his face. "Please Robin. Please tell me. Then I'll know and we can go from there. Put me out my misery, please."

Robin had her head in her hands, her hair falling forward to shield her face. She knew that Strike wasn't going to let this go. She was exhausted, physically and mentally. She couldn't do this anymore and she had to let it out.

"I have a lump, ok? I've found a lump. And please don't say 'What do you mean?' cos you must know what that means." Her voice was impatient, almost angry.

Silence settled in the room. Strike was winded, speechless, frozen. In all his wildest thoughts, he had never imagined this.

"Right….Right…. I'm going into my office for a few minutes. Just a few minutes Robin. Then, can I ask you a few questions?"

Robin nodded from behind her hands.

"Ok. Just a few minutes. Now, you won't leave or anything, will you?"

Robin shook her head.

"Good. Right….."

Strike turned around, headed into his office and closed the door. He leaned up against the wall on the right, on the other side of the kitchen. This was fucking awful. Of all the things he was preparing himself to hear, this was not it. This was really…..bloody hell. What did Robin do to deserve this? Hadn't she suffered enough? Why her? Phewww, at least she's not leaving, I was convinced that's what it was. But that's really selfish of me now. I'm a fucking arse! Get yourself together, you moron. She needs you now. She needs you.

Strike stood for a while longer, breathing deeply and trying to calm his thudding chest. Then he walked back into the outer office. Robin had moved from her desk chair over to the sofa, close to the door, and Strike sat down beside her. Robin did not look at him and just stared down at her hands.

"Ok Robin. When did you….erm…find it?

"Over Christmas, up in Yorkshire."

"Have you been to your GP?"

"Yes, last Wednesday."

"And what did they say?"

"She was brutally honest and said she really couldn't be sure if it was benign or not. So I've been referred to hospital for more checks and maybe a biopsy."

"And when is that happening?"

"Next week, Tuesday."

"What hospital?"

"St George's in Tooting."

"Have you told your Mum? Your parents?"

"No, I don't want them to know. Not just now." Robin's face started to crumple, tears dropping from her eyes with no stopping them. Strike reached out and took her right hand, squeezing it in encouragement. He was desperate to just scoop her up in his arms and crush her to him, but was so unsure of himself he didn't dare. He paused until Robin was a little more composed.

"Have you told anyone at all?"

"No."

"So, no-one is going with you next week?"

"No, I don't want anyone."

Strike hesitated. "Well, that's too bad, cos I'm coming with you."

"Oh no, please, you can't do that!" Robin looked at Strike for the first time in the conversation.

"Yes I can. And yes, I am."

"But….what about…..Charlotte?" Robin sighed. "Are you back with Charlotte?"

"No, definitely not."

"Don't come with me. You don't need to," said Robin, shaking her head.

"Yes, I do."

Robin burst into tears again. This time, Strike couldn't hold himself back. His heart was breaking at the sight of Robin in such distress. He reached further, his arms going around Robin's shoulders, coaxing her towards him.

"C'mere you."

Robin didn't protest and leaned her head into Strike's chest, still sobbing. Strike tightened his hold around her. He could feel Robin's arm moving around his torso, grabbing onto his shirt as she continued to shudder and tremble her pent up anxiety out of herself. Strike said nothing, and leant his head on top of Robin's, closing his eyes and sweeping strands of Robin's hair back from her face absently.

They both sat like that for a while, neither wishing to break the warm contact between themselves. Robin's tears subsided, but she still clung on to Strike, listening to his strong and steady heartbeat and savouring the feel of his arms comforting her. Strike just didn't want to let go of this woman he had grown to love and he wouldn't until Robin showed signs of wanting to.

Robin eventually pulled back, wiping her eyes and her face. Strike still held on to her hand.

"Sorry. You must have snot all over your shirt," said Robin sheepishly.

"Don't worry about that. I am definitely coming with you next week. I'll rearrange all my appointments and whatever."

"I get the feeling I've lost this argument," said Robin, defeated.

"Yes, you have. Why couldn't you tell me Robin?" Strike squeezed Robin's hand, almost without thinking.

"Listen, if you found a lump on one of your…your man bits…would you be telling anyone about it?"

"Erm…no… point taken," Strike laughed.

Robin smiled shyly and looked away, her face turning pink.

"So, what did happen with Charlotte then?" she asked.

"Usual stuff. She's left her husband, although somehow I think that will be temporary. Asking to come back to me. Trust me, I've had this a hundred times before, but it's well over. I delivered her to a friend's house."

"Oh, right. It's none of my business, but she does seem very troubled."

"Got it in one."

"Look, I'd better go. I've ruined yet another one of your evenings. You're probably gasping for a pint." Robin stood up and pulled her coat from the stand. Strike rose up at the same time.

"Why don't you stay tonight? I can sleep on the camp-bed. I don't like the thought of you being on your own with this hanging over you."

Strike was searching Robin's face with such a look of tenderness, she felt her heart skip over several times. She could only stare back, slowly being drawn into those eyes, green pools of concern and affection. She then closed her own eyes, unable to look any more. The thought of staying was almost irresistible and there was nothing she wanted more right then. To just be close to the man she had fallen in love with…..but some random voice in her head was telling her, it's not a good idea. Not tonight. These aren't the right circumstances. You're worn out and vulnerable. She trusted Strike completely, but she couldn't trust herself. She then found herself saying:

"Thanks Cormoran, but I should go home. I'm really shattered and I can sleep and relax a bit for the rest of the weekend. Honestly."

Robin could see the faint sign of disappointment in Strike's face. "Ok. You're probably right. But text me as soon as you're home. Definitely. And no working this weekend."

"Yes, Sir," said Robin with a weak smile.

"Good." Felling brave, Strike pulled Robin into his arms for a close hug once again. "It'll be alright, y'know. I'm sure it will," he said, speaking softly into her hair.

Robin squeezed back tightly. "I so hope you're right. Goodnight Cormoran."

"Goodnight Robin."

She then turned and left.

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	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The next few days were the biggest torture that Strike could remember in a long time. He couldn't get Robin out of his mind. He called her on Saturday and Sunday evenings to check that she was ok. In between, he had also texted her with some words of encouragement. But inside, he felt like an anxious wreck, imagining bad news coming from the doctors and how this made him feel. Shit scared. Totally fucking terrified. He had fallen in love with a woman who might be taken away before he had even expressed his feelings, before he was in any kind of position to be with her. Life was fucking crap sometimes, lots of the time actually. It would just be his perpetual bad luck to meet someone who could be "the one" and then have her snatched away, as if the Gods were laughing at him, taunting him as being undeserving of such a gift.

And how must Robin be feeling? She sounded remarkably ok in her conversations and replies to messages, but Strike knew Robin would be putting on a front. Of course, she must be petrified, but she would do everything in her power to hide it. She had shown this by telling no-one except Strike. And look what it took for him to prize the bad news out of her! Robin may give the appearance of softness and vulnerability, but she was as tough as they come inside. She confounded Strike every time.

And in between all these chaotic thoughts came visions of Robin in his arms. Strike felt ashamed to dwell on those images, but he was completely powerless to stop them. Robin was warm. Cooler than Strike certainly, but still warm. She was soft and curvy and in all the right places. Her hair was silken. She smelt….feminine, but somehow spicy too. Her face was beautiful, even in sadness. Such clear blue eyes, perfect skin and definitely kissable lips. Strike's yearning for her was now becoming like a constant, throbbing ache in his gut.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robin spent the weekend trying to relax. She had managed to sleep much better on the Friday night after talking to Strike. On the following days, she attempted to read some criminal psychology books and then watched some TV. Inevitably her mind reverted to her upcoming hospital visit. She couldn't quite believe it was happening. What if the prognosis was bad? There would no doubt be chemotherapy type treatment, perhaps surgery? Oh God, it didn't bear thinking about. This is the kind of stuff that happens to other people, not me. Why me? Why now? Robin could not recall any kind of history of this in her family. And she certainly wasn't going to be asking her Mum. Not right now at any rate. And just when her life was starting to take shape again, after Matthew. Just when….

And Strike. He was a tower of strength, a rock, so unexpectedly caring. Robin felt very moved at his calls and messages over the weekend. He displayed more concern and kindness than she could imagine receiving from any of her girlfriends, or perhaps even her Mum. He was obviously very worried for her. She was putting him through the wringer no mistake, poor thing.

And in between came regular flashbacks to Strike holding her fast. They were ever present, unstoppable. He was warm, way warmer than her. He was so solid and strong, hairy, and a bit round. His beard was surprisingly soft in the fleeting brush she had felt. He smelt…masculine, smoky and musky. His face was wonky, but strangely attractive. Such deep green eyes, and a full, kissable mouth. Robin longed for him more with each passing day.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tuesday came and Strike met Robin at Tooting underground station at 9.30, as arranged. Robin was driving the short distance to the hospital to save Strike any discomfort in walking. They settled themselves in the reception area, awaiting the call for Robin to go in for her examination.

Strike hated hospitals with a passion. He had had more experience of them than most people and they never represented anything good in his eyes. Of course, he had great admiration for those who worked in them, but nothing else. However, this visit was different. It was for Robin and he would do anything for her.

Robin was naturally tense and trying desperately to contain it. She kept telling herself she had no control of this situation. She just had to get through it and await the result. Robin had thought she could manage on her own, but she was now very relieved that Strike was with her. She found this great hulk of a man a calming presence. He represented safety and she felt as though she could be given any kind of news and she could handle it if he was by her side. And here he was.

Whilst pondering, Robin peered at Strike. He turned to look at her, as though he had sensed her eyes upon him, had felt the heat of her gaze. He smiled and put his arm around Robin to pull her close, not a word being spoken.

After half an hour, Robin was called and she reluctantly left Strike behind.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike smoked, snacked and read his way through the long hours of waiting, as well as making some work calls and texts. Robin appeared intermittently between tests, but was eventually all done by mid-afternoon. When she came out of the final test, which was a biopsy, Strike gave her another hug and they left the building in search of Robin's car.

"Feeling ok?" asked Strike, as he fastened his seat-belt.

"Not too bad," replied Robin. "I feel a bit….not exactly in pain but…..a bit tender, prodded and pushed and pulled about a bit."

"Yeah, you must be. Right, drive back to your place."

"But I should drop you at the underground," said Robin, confused.

"No, this is what we're gonna do. Drive back to your place, pack yourself a bag for the rest of the week and then come back to mine."

"Cormoran, I will be perfectly ok. You've done enough already, more than enough."

"I am not accepting any arguments whatsoever. Just do as you're told," said Strike, as sternly as he dared.

"No. I can't let you do that."

"Yes, you can."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Robin sighed. "You're such a bossy boots sometimes Cormoran."

"Yeah, sometimes I need to be with you." Strike glowered at Robin in vexation.

"Well, when things get back to normal, don't think that this will continue. No way," replied Robin stubbornly.

"Tell me something I DON'T know," quipped Strike.

Robin burst out laughing for the first time in days as she started the car engine and Strike smiled, touched by the sweet sound of it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They arrived back at Strike's flat after travelling by Tube. Strike had already decided that the dinner would be takeaway and left the apartment in search of some Chinese food. In the meantime, Robin noticed how Strike's bed was freshly made with clean sheets and his camp-bed was already made up in the corner. How presumptuous, was the first thought which sprang into Robin's head, but then she quickly dismissed it. He was always going to persuade Robin to come back here after today's ordeal. It wasn't really presumptuous at all, just very thoughtful. Robin unpacked some items from her bag and then found the necessary crockery and cutlery in the kitchen cupboards.

Strike returned with several bags filled with familiar Chinese cuisine. He then proceeded to empty them out onto the various plates which Robin had placed on the worktop. Robin poured a couple of cokes into glasses and they both sat down on the sofa to enjoy the hot feast.

"I have to admit, I am totally starving Robin."

"I'm not surprised. You must have survived today on one Twix or something."

"Yeah, sounds about right," said Strike between mouthfuls of spring rolls.

"Are you ever NOT starving?" asked Robin, smiling mischievously.

Strike took a sideways look at her, scowling. "I see the events of today haven't dimmed your cheekiness Miss Ellacott."

"No, I think it's getting worse."

"Well, just for the record, I think you're right. I spend a lot of my life feeling pretty hungry. God knows how my mother and uncle and aunt ever kept me fed."

"I bet you stole food from Lucy, didn't you? I just know it."

Strike sniggered. "Guilty. But, in my defence, she ate like a sparrow. You've seen her. She's as thin as a rake. So, I was really just doing her a favour."

"What a caring brother you are," proclaimed Robin.

"Y'know, I'm so glad someone has finally noticed. Would you spell that out to Lucy the next time you see her?"

Now it was Robin's turn to giggle, through her rice and chicken.

"Well my brothers can all eat for Britain, so I had to fight for food in our house. And I did," said Robin.

"Yeah, I can well imagine that."

"Now who's being cheeky?" Robin prodded Strike's arm, playfully.

"Just can't imagine you letting your brothers away with anything and I don't even know them."

"I would never let them off with stuff. I would fight them on the floor and punch and kick and scratch just like them. I think Mum was horrified half the time, but funnily enough Dad would be cheering me on. It's funny thinking back."

"If I'd known all this a few years ago, I would have thought twice about keeping you on," said Strike.

"You'd better be joking me?" Robin looked at Strike very seriously.

He chuckled. "Of course I am. Sounds like I've got my very own bad Bond girl."

"Who's your favourite? Bond girl?"

"Ooooh, that's a hard one. Let me think. Mmmm." After a few moments, Strike announced, "Sophie Marceau maybe. And let's face it, it's hard to beat Pussy Galore."

"Ve-ry int-er-est-ing Mis-ter Strike," said Robin, in a fake Russian accent.

"And who's your favourite Bond then?"

"Oh that's easy. Sean Connery, hands down."

"Really? I thought you might have gone for Daniel Craig."

"Nope, has to be Sean. Tall, dark, clever, brooding, rugged, charming….." Robin was now reciting with her eyes closed.

"Yeah, ok, that's enough," replied Strike, in mock defeat. He glanced at Robin and smiled at the vision of her swooning over the famous and handsome Scottish film star.

They both finished their food and then settled in front of the TV. Robin was asleep within 15 minutes. I'm not surprised, thought Strike. Not after today. Robin must have been kept going on adrenalin for most of it, because Strike knew that he definitely was.

Strike shook Robin awake and coaxed her to go to bed properly, and in his bed. Better to do it now than try to wake her from a comatose state later on.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strike got up early the next morning, but left Robin still deep in slumber. She didn't appear down in the office until lunchtime.

"I'm so sorry for oversleeping. Why didn't you wake me?" asked a flustered Robin.

"You were clearly knocked out and needing a good sleep, that's why," countered Strike.

"But there's so much work to do."

"Robin, the work will still be here tomorrow and the next day, so don't be worrying about that. I can take care of the urgent stuff."

"I know. I just hate falling behind." Robin quickly settled into her chair.

"Listen, here's the deal. And this is non-negotiable. You can work the next few days as normal, but you're not wandering far from the office and you're staying upstairs until you get your test results."

Robin opened her mouth to start protesting. Strike held up his hand.

"No Robin. Don't look at me like that. This is a big thing you're in the middle of here, so you need a bit of TLC. Just fucking accept it."

Robin considered for just a second and then conceded, "Yeah ok." She was secretly glad to have the company, especially this man now standing in front of her.

"Good. When are the results due anyway?"

"Probably Monday. They'll call me to come back in."

"Ok. Let me know as soon as you hear from them, won't you?"

"Yes," nodded Robin.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Robin and Strike kept themselves busy for the next few days. Robin stayed in the office most of the time and Strike did a lot of surveillance, into the evenings and even into the early hours on one occasion. They both worked over the weekend to catch up on and finish some jobs ready for billing.

Robin was just happy to be kept occupied, to take her mind off the dreaded call she would no doubt receive on Monday. When in the flat alone, she cooked some meals which Strike devoured with gusto and gratitude when he came home. He was also happy to work non-stop, but always had Robin on his mind. What if Monday brought bad news? What would happen next? He had no idea and his stomach lurched every time he dwelt on those sad thoughts for too long. This was a fucking nightmare.

Monday morning came. Strike and Robin were in the office when Robin's mobile rang around 10am. She looked carefully at the vibrating screen, answered the call with shaking hands and had a brief conversation. When finished, she heaved a very deep sigh. Strike had come out of his room and was looking at her expectantly.

"They want to see me at 4 o'clock today."

"And they didn't say anything else? No indication…?" enquired Strike.

"No." Robin looked away before any tears welled up.

"Ok." Strike paused, looking at Robin's hands still trembling slightly. "Are you alright? Do you want to go upstairs for a bit?"

"No, I need to be doing something. I'll just keep on with this." Robin gestured toward the papers on her desk.

"Fine. If you're sure….?"

"Sure."

"We'll leave about 3 o'clock then?" suggested Strike.

"Great."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They arrived at the hospital and settled into seats in the waiting area. Strike monitored Robin out of the corner of his eye and saw how she was breathing very deeply, no doubt to control her nerves. He reached out his arm around her shoulders and embraced her once again.

"Robin, whatever happens, you'll be fine. I know it. You're strong and you're gutsy and…" Strike paused thinking of all the things he wanted to say, but wasn't brave enough to. "We'll deal with whatever it is together."

Robin said nothing but Strike could feel her nodding against him.

Before long, Robin's name was called and as she rose from her seat, Strike squeezed her hand.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Strike waited for about 5 minutes, but he was desperate for a cigarette. The suspense was killing him. He had no idea how long Robin would be in for, so he decided to go out for a smoke. He wandered outside the hospital door and took up position a short distance away where he could still see the entrance. Strike could hardly get the Benson & Hedges out of his pocket quick enough. He lit up, inhaled deeply and thought that he had never felt such a rush of sheer, physical relief in years.

Just as he was stubbing out his second cigarette, a familiar silhouette came rushing out of the hospital door.

"Robin!" called Strike.

Robin looked over to Strike and then began to run towards him. When she approached, she stopped, smiling broadly.

"There's nothing wrong. I'm fine, just fine. It's harmless," said Robin, breathlessly.

Strike closed his eyes and looked towards the sky.

"Thank FUCK for that. Thank fuck. God, thank you!" he exclaimed.

"I don't think I could put it better myself," laughed Robin.

"Awww. Jesus Christ." Strike rubbed his eyes. "I don't mind telling you I was shitting myself."

Robin laughed even louder. "I wondered what the smell was," she answered mischievously.

Strike chuckled at the joke. Then he couldn't help himself and pulled Robin into an embrace, kissing her on top of her head. They had hugged a few times lately, so it didn't seem out of place any more.

"I am so glad for you Robin. So glad. You have handled this remarkably well. Jesus!"

As they reluctantly pulled apart, Robin replied, "I don't know about that. I was pretty terrified inside."

"Well you hid it very skilfully. And I don't know why I'm surprised."

"Thanks. But I REALLY don't want to go through that ever again," said Robin, sighing.

"No, please don't," replied Strike. "By the way, what happens now? Y'know, with the…erm…," Strike made a slight nodding gesture towards the general area of Robin's chest.

"Oh. Maybe nothing. They say that these things often disappear on their own, so I've to monitor it for a few months. If it doesn't go away naturally, then I should see my GP again to see what can be done about it. But it won't be surgical. They can do stuff that isn't invasive."

"Great. That's a relief," smiled Strike.

"Absolutely! So, what do you fancy doing now? Do you have to go back to work?" asked Robin.

"It's entirely up to you. Do you want to do something?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind a drink. Or six!"

"You've read my mind. Let's go," announced Strike.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Inevitably, Strike and Robin ended up in The Tottenham. And The Nellie Dean. And The Dog & Duck. And The Cambridge. They found themselves at an Indian takeaway at 9pm. After receiving their order, they made their way back to Denmark Street. There was almost an unspoken acceptance that this was always going to be their destination. Strike felt reasonably alert, but he kept a close eye on Robin who was swaying from side to side and giggling whilst walking up the street. She had definitely consumed a lot of alcohol. They both had, but many years of practice meant that Strike was much better at handling it.

Strike managed to steer them both to the office and fumbled with his main door keys, which Robin found highly amusing.

"You are no help at all Miss Ellacott. Could you not even offer to hold the takeaway?" asked Strike in mock annoyance.

"Nope. It's too much fun just watching you."

"Thanks for nothing. I don't think I'll let you in."

"Oh come on! Please… pretty please….pretty pretty please…." Robin fluttered her eyelashes provocatively.

Strike continued with his struggle trying not to smile, but failing. He soon got the door open and then pushed Robin inside.

"On you go then, up the stairs. Although I don't think you'll be any quicker than me with one leg."

"D'you wanna bet?" challenged Robin.

At that, Robin took off running and leapt up the stairs, sometimes two at a time. She arrived at the top floor breathless and head spinning. Strike arrived in his own time, wincing a little at the pain from the pressure exerted on his false leg. By this time, Robin had leant her head against the apartment door, trying to stop the hallway from twirling around.

"Run a bit too fast, did you?" joked Strike.

"No, no, I'm perfectly fine," said Robin, turning and straightening her clothes as though being inspected.

"You are not."

"Am."

"Not."

"Am."

"Not."

Strike was once again fumbling with keys, but he managed to open his door quickly and coaxed Robin over the threshold.

Once the sofa was in sight, it was inevitable that Robin would be heading for it in some ungainly manner or another. She ended up sprawled across it, with her legs hanging off the end. Strike shed his coat and headed for the kitchen, pouring a large glass of water.

"Here, drink this," he said as he offered the glass to Robin. "You know you want to."

"No thanks. Let's have a real drink. What d'you have?" challenged Robin.

If Strike could have converted a loud groan to a facial expression, it would have been plastered all over his face at that moment.

"I don't have any wine, only beer. I don't think it's a good idea for you to drink that. Too much mixing."

"Oh rubbish. Come on! It's a party. We're celebrating!" scolded Robin.

"If you say so," laughed Strike.

"Hey, I know. I've still got your gift of pink champagne downstairs. I was keeping it for a special occasion. Well, what's more special than this?"

"Can't think of anything much more special than this Robin. I'll nip down and get it."

"That's more like it. And hurry up. I'm really thirsty," said Robin as she slumped back on the sofa once again.

"Yes Miss."

Strike left his apartment with a mixed feeling of joy and dread. It was indeed a very happy occasion, but Robin was heading for oblivion and he knew he was powerless to stop her. Damage limitation was the best he could hope for. When Strike appeared in his flat again, Robin had turned on some music and was dancing around the kitchen.

"Champagne! What a man you are! I was looking for some proper flutes, but these will have to do." Robin pointed to some high ball glasses she had fished out of the cupboard.

"Well funnily enough, I'm not often quaffing champagne up here with my guests."

"Oh, and there's me thinking you were rich and classy and handsome and successful," said Robin, faking disappointment.

"I am, Robin. I am most definitely all of those things. I'm so glad you noticed," replied Strike in an instant.

Robin started giggling helplessly. "Oh God, I need a wee. Better go."

"You better had."

When Robin emerged from the tiny bathroom, Strike had almost finished distributing the takeaway into two bowls.

"Here Robin, eat some of this. You need something in your stomach." He offered one of the bowls to his partner, who had a distinctly misty look in her eyes.

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about the food. Well remembered," said Robin, pointing at Strike. "You'll go far y'know. I've got high hopes for you."

Strike sniggered to himself as he sat down on the sofa to delve into his long awaited food. Robin sat down beside him to eat and before long, Strike was hoovering up all the remnants of the small meal. As soon as Robin was finished, she immediately sought out her "champagne" glass and started drinking it like lemonade.

"Whoa Robin, slow up a bit. You're gonna pass out if you're not careful," cautioned Strike.

"I'm just so happy. I could drink the whole bottle. Are you not having some?" Robin continued dancing to the music.

"Think I'll stick to my beer, thanks." Strike was acutely aware that he would soon be fulfilling the "looking after and getting a very drunken pal to bed" role, so he wisely chose to moderate his alcohol consumption.

"What is that music?" he asked.

"You should know. It's some kind of compilation album I found in your CDs."

"Never knew I had it. Must have been a gift at some time."

"Come and dance with me Cormoran." Robin reached out her arms to Strike.

"I don't know if you've noticed Robin, but I've only got one and half legs."

"And?"

"And…that limits my dancing skills considerably."

"Nonsense. You don't even give it a try. Get up and try."

"No thanks."

"Party pooper. I'll just dance with this other gentleman," retorted Robin, as she turned around.

"What other gentleman?" asked a perplexed Strike.

"The one that's just asked me to dance. In my head."

"Mmm. Got many men in your head?"

"No, just the one really," replied Robin, very matter of fact.

"Oh. Interesting. And what's his name?"

"Can't tell you. It's a secret."

"Aw go on. You can tell me. I won't breathe a word."

"No, can't risk it. It's HUGELY dangerous."

Strike laughed. "You don't half talk a lot of bollocks when you're drunk."

"Of course I do. Everybody does."

Robin danced around for another few songs, stopping regularly to swig more champagne. Strike could only gaze at this lovely sight from his vantage point on the settee. This was going to get very messy indeed he thought, as he downed some more Doom Bar and then lit up a cigarette.

It wasn't long before Strike realised that his eyes had closed. It had been a tiring day and the vision of Robin twirling around was now making him feel rather dizzy. Suddenly, Robin threw herself down beside him.

"Cormoran?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm hammered."

"Yup. Totally pickled."

Robin leaned up against Strike's arm, breathing heavily. "Y'know, you're the best man in the world. 'n I think you're jus' fantastic. You're so good to me."

Strike reached his arm around Robin, which was becoming second nature. "Why, thank you Robin. But I think you're a teensy bit affected by the booze."

"No, no 'm not," insisted Robin. "I know 'xactly what 'm sayin'. I love you Corm. I love you to death. Jus' love you sooooooooo much. Jus' wan'ed you to know that."

Strike chuckled, knowing that "I love you's" spoken through drink should be taken with a pinch of salt. He'd said them plenty of times himself, usually to his male pals in the midst of a total, drunken blackout.

Strike looked down at Robin's bleary eyes. "I love you too Robin," he replied quite truthfully, although he doubted if Robin had the mental faculties remaining to memorise his confession and recollect it later.

"Do you? Do you really? Do you actually, really? That's just fab'lous, just great," slurred Robin, now definitely struggling with her words. Very soon, her head lolled down and she was dead to the world.

The predominantly dreadful music continued on in the background, but Strike couldn't be bothered attempting to switch it off. He remained in his position for another half an hour or so, smoking and finishing his beer and very much enjoying the feel of Robin's body pressed up against his. I should be the happiest man on earth right now, he thought. He was holding a beautiful woman, who had just declared how much she loved him. Just a pity she wouldn't recall any of it and quite possibly didn't mean it either.

And now for the hard part, thought Strike.…..He moved to stand up and he tried to manoeuvre Robin to a standing position as gently as he could. Robin opened her eyes, confused, and asked where she was.

"Shoosh, shoosh. You're fine. It's just me and I'm getting you into bed," said Strike in a low tone.

"Mmmmm, yeah", was all that Robin could say in return.

Strike held Robin as he directed her towards his bed and then sat her down, leaning against the headboard. He then moved to the kitchen and reappeared a short time later with a glass full of fizzing water and alkaseltzer.

"Robin, listen, drink this. It'll make you feel better."

"Nooooo. Wanna sleep."

"Yeah, I know that. But you need this. You really do. Come on. It'll take the edge off in the morning. I promise."

Robin reluctantly held out her hand for the drink. Strike still held it too and directed the rim towards Robin's mouth. She drank a little before announcing, "That's disgusting."

"No, it doesn't taste great, but finish it. You'll thank me for it tomorrow."

Robin closed her eyes and drank the rest of the potion in one go, grimacing as her head fell back against the headboard again.Strike put the tumbler to the side and looked at Robin's clothes, undecided what to do. He could see that she had some kind of top on under her sweater, so he felt quite safe in removing the outer layer over Robin's head. She responded by mumbling incoherently again. What to do about Robin's jeans? They wouldn't be comfortable to sleep in, although he had done so many times himself, in his armchair.

"Robin? Do you mind if I take off your jeans?" asked Strike.

"Mmmmm. Whatever," Robin muttered, as her upper body fell over to lie prostrate on the bed.

Strike fumbled to undo the belt and buttons and then tried to pull the jeans down over Robin's legs. She sensed that help was required and moved her hips and legs a bit to assist. Strike tried not to look at Robin's bare skin and he pulled the duvet over her body discreetly as her trousers came off.

"Love you," Robin whispered through her hair.

Strike then moved into the bathroom to change and perform his night-time ablutions. Before retiring to the camp-bed, he took another look at Robin. He rearranged her pillows and then fetched a bucket from the kitchen, which he placed at the side of the bed just in case. He pushed back some hair from Robin's face and kissed her tenderly on her forehead. She'll never remember a thing about this he thought, feeling more than a little disappointed at this realisation.

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When Robin awoke late the next morning, it took her about 30 seconds to work out where she was. Once this particular puzzle was solved, she became all too aware of the massive pounding in her head and the nausea building up from her stomach. She struggled to remember the events of the previous evening, but could not recall anything after eating some Indian food.

Robin noticed a glass of water with a box of alkaseltzer placed on the bedside table, together with a piece of paper. Her name was written on it in a familiar script. Robin picked up the note and read:

"Good morning Robin.

You thoroughly enjoyed yourself last night, but I suspect you will be feeling rather worse for wear today. You consumed wine, champagne, gin and even sambucca at one point. Quite a mix, even by my standards. Dr Strike would recommend a large glass of water with 2 alkaseltzer, sleep some more, and when you're feeling up to it, go home and repeat as necessary.

Do not, DO NOT come into the office today. Go home and get yourself together for a fresh start tomorrow. I will be out and about most of today.

Will call you later.

Cormoran x "

Robin smiled as she read the message over again, but then promptly ran to the bathroom.

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Sorry for the delay. Work really busy and a sick relative too! I think the next chapter might be the last.

Thanks!

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	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 - 1

This is one version of an ending. I am working on a longer, alternative one, which I will post when ready.

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Strike's phone buzzed with an incoming message.

"Party at ours 2 weeks on Saturday. What's the story with Robin? You'd better have good news. Make sure she comes! No excuses. Ilsa x "

This could be the chance Strike was waiting for. Now that Robin's health scare was past, he was trying to figure out what to do, how to express how he felt. There was no doubt it had to happen, whatever the consequences.

Strike had grown more hopeful over the past weeks about Robin reciprocating his feelings. Especially after the drunken "I love you's", though he was sure she still couldn't remember them. Robin had returned to her normal self and seemed to be spending more time around Strike, in the office and going to the pub for after work drinks. There was something about her now, some look, some vibe, some aura, that boosted the quiet optimism inside of him.

"Robin?"

"Yeah?"

"You doing anything two weeks on Saturday night?" asked Strike.

"Erm, I might have a hockey thing on, but I'll need to check. Why?"

Strike had now appeared out of his room, at the kitchen.

"Ilsa and Nick are having a party and have invited us both."

"Do you think it's for something in particular? They don't usually do parties at this time of year," said Robin.

"Mmm, I have a sneaky suspicion…" Strike trailed off.

"What?"

"I know they've been trying for a baby. And there was something about Ilsa when I saw her at New Year. I dunno. It's not like she had put on lots of weight, it was just as though she was more….shapely, shall we say, more round in the face? I wouldn't be surprised if there was an announcement, but I'm not sure."

Robin was checking her diary.

"Oh no. I do have a hockey night out on that Saturday. Bugger."

Strike's face fell. "That's a shame. I'd really like it if you came. Any chance you could rearrange it? Just this once?" He paused, suddenly panicking at his words. "Sorry, that's not fair. If you can't go…."

"No, no, it's fine, I'm sure the girls will understand. I'll see what I can do," replied Robin.

This could be an opportunity, thought Robin. Now that life was back to some normality, she had been thinking about how to move things forward. The time had come and Robin had grown more hopeful recently about Strike returning her feelings. Especially after the way he had cared for her during her hospital visits. Robin definitely felt something now, some quality, some mood, some air, that encouraged the expectancy within her.

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Strike arranged to meet Robin at the edge of Battersea Park, close to Nick and Ilsa's place. Strike appeared early, around 6.45, and feeling more than a little anxious. He pulled out some Benson & Hedges to keep himself occupied until Robin appeared. Within 10 minutes, a beautiful head of golden hair appeared in the distance and slowly crept towards Strike. He stubbed out his 4th cigarette as Robin approached.

"Good evening Mr Strike," Robin beamed.

"Good evening Miss Ellacott. D'you mind if we go for a short walk in the park first?"

"No, fine, lead on."

Strike turned into the park, Robin following and they meandered for a while, Strike looking for a park bench.

"Are you ok Cormoran? You seem a bit uneasy." Robin was peering at Strike, with some concern creasing her brow.

"No, not ok"

"No? What's wrong?"

"Let's sit somewhere first and I'll tell you."

An empty bench presented itself within a few minutes and they both sat down. Strike remained in tortured silence for a while and Robin sat alongside him, waiting patiently. Strike then reached out to take Robin's left hand in his own, whilst sighing heavily.

"There's something I have to do before I go to this party. If I go without having done it, Ilsa will kill me. Really, she will."

"You're scaring me now. What is it?" asked Robin.

"I've got to tell you this Robin. The party has become a deadline, but I can't hold it in anymore or I'll go insane. Please let me get it all out before you say anything."

"Robin….I'm in love with you. And you're driving me crazy. I've been holding back so much because we work together, but it's not possible anymore. I want to do things…..touch you, hug you, kiss you…..and….other stuff."

"I need you in my life Robin. Not just work, but in all of my life, full stop. All the time, every day. I need you. And I love you."

"That's it." Strike had closed his eyes, anticipating the response from Robin. Anger, laughter, whatever…..

Seconds went by, turning into minutes and Robin still didn't speak. Strike opened his eyes again and tentatively sneaked a glance at her. She had also closed her eyes, but both her hands had tightened around Strike's hand.

"Can you say something, anything, please?" pleaded Strike.

Robin breathed out and then said in a shaky voice, "I want to say something, but my heart is beating so hard, I suddenly can't think of any words at all. You've quite literally taken my breath away."

"In a good way? Or a bad way?"

"Oh, good. Definitely good. Quite wonderful, in fact," Robin blurted out.

As soon as Strike heard these words, he immediately reached for Robin. His fingers trailed through her hair to cup her face as his lips found hers, soft and open, wanting and waiting.

And oh…the surges going through their bodies as their kiss intensified, their heightened breathing, their fingers reaching out to touch each other, the sensation of warm flesh on flesh, lips on lips, sending shockwaves up and down their nerve endings, the fever in their urgency for each other, their hunger and longing and yearning being partially satisfied at last.

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	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 18 – Version 2

This is the alternative version of the ending. It starts the same as the one before, but the story then changes.

Thanks for reading!

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Strike's phone buzzed with an incoming message.

"Party at ours 2 weeks on Saturday. What's the story with Robin? You'd better have good news. Make sure she comes! No excuses. Ilsa x"

This could be the chance Strike was waiting for. Now that Robin's health scare was past, he was trying to figure out what to do, how to express how he felt. There was no doubt it had to happen, whatever the consequences.

Strike had grown more hopeful over the past weeks about Robin reciprocating his feelings. Especially after the drunken "I love you's", though he was sure she still couldn't remember them. Robin had returned to her normal self and seemed to be spending more time around Strike, in the office and in the pub for drinks. There was something about her now, some look, some vibe, that was different and Strike wanted to act on it. Urgently.

"Robin?"

"Yeah?"

"You doing anything two weeks on Saturday night?"

"Erm, I might have a hockey thing on, but I'll need to check. Why?"

Strike had now appeared out of his room, at the kitchen.

"Ilsa and Nick are having a party and have invited us both."

"Do you think it's for something in particular? They don't usually do parties at this time of year, do they?" queried Robin.

"Mmm, I have a sneaky suspicion…" Strike trailed off.

"What?"

"I know they've been trying for a baby. And there was something about Ilsa when I saw her at New Year. I dunno. It's not like she had put on lots of weight, it was just as though she was more….shapely, shall we say, more round in the face? I wouldn't be surprised if there was an announcement, but I'm not sure."

Robin was checking her diary.

"Oh no. I do have a hockey night out on that Saturday. Bugger."

Strike's face fell. "That's a shame. I'd really like it if you came. Any chance…." He paused, suddenly panicking at his words. "Sorry, that's not fair. If you can't go…."

"No, no, it's fine, I'm sure the girls will understand. I'll see what I can do," replied Robin.

Strike stopped as he went back to his room.

"Are you any good at hockey? I've always meant to ask you."

"Not great. I'm in the seventh team, bottom of the heap. But it's great for a social life."

"Mmmm. Lots of women running around with sticks….sounds deadly to me…." said Strike, smirking.

Robin immediately dissolved into giggles, as Strike disappeared into his office.

This could be an opportunity, thought Robin. Now that life was back to some normality, she had been considering how to move things forward. The time had come and Robin had grown more hopeful recently about Strike returning her feelings. Especially after the way he had cared for her during her hospital visits. Robin definitely felt something from Strike now, something different that made her feel at least a bit optimistic.

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Strike was marching along the street, as fast as his leg would allow, searching for the first available bus. His brain told him he should really go back to the party, but the perverse little devil in his head told him it was already too late. Ilsa was going to be furious. Hell, HE was furious…with himself. Who leaves a party in a strop for Christ's sake? A child, a petulant teenager. And here he was, doing exactly that. What a fucking, prize moron. A knobhead. An arsehole. A completely fucked up fucker.

Why, why, why is this happening? Why do I stuff everything up? Why does anything good in my life have to be so fucking complicated? Why can't I just say the words to her? Why do I have to act like some jealous prick? Why the fuck don't I just go back and say that I was having a long smoke?

Strike's phone rang in his pocket. No doubt it would be Nick or Ilsa looking for him. He pulled the handset out of his coat and looked at the screen. Robin…. Shit….shit….shit... Now SHE is on my tail. Just fucking brilliant. Could she not just leave me be? Just for a bit longer?

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Robin was striding along the road when she extracted her phone from her bag and called Strike. The call rang out and then went to voicemail.

"Cormoran, where are you? Can you please let me know? Are you ok?"

What on earth was wrong with him? Ilsa didn't have a clue what was going on and did not seem best pleased either. She had simply said that Strike had taken his coat and disappeared out the front door with no explanation. Robin continued on her walk. When she reached the first bus-stop, she paused and looked at her phone. No answer. She called Strike again and listened to the words of the voicemail option once more.

"Cormoran, where the hell are you? Please call me back, will you? I'm worried. You just disappeared. Send a text if you don't want to talk. Please. Just to let me know you're ok?"

I wanted tonight to be something special, a time to admit feelings and maybe something more. And now look. What the fuck happened?

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Strike had been in the office for five minutes and was sitting at his desk pondering what to drink. The outer office door was opened with some abandon and Robin soon appeared at his door. _Oh fuck, here we go…_

"There you are! Where did you get to?" asked Robin, arms outstretched in frustration.

"I'm right here," answered Strike.

"You must have just arrived. I've been looking for you all over. I was already here and up at the flat and in the local pubs. I even looked in your favourite Chinese place."

"Why?"

Robin gaped in disbelief. "Why?" _Oh right, it's going to be like this, is it?_

"Because….I was worried. Why did you just take off like that?" She had crossed the room and was standing at the window, arms folded.

"I didn't just take off," said Strike, not meeting her glare.

"Yes, you did. One minute you were there, the next you were gone. I asked Ilsa and she was mystified, you just grabbed your coat and said you had to go."

"Yeah, well….." murmured Strike, rather uncertainly.

"What made you leave so suddenly? You asked me to the party and then you just buggered off." Robin made a gesture of bewilderment, holding out her hands and shrugging her shoulders.

"But it's not like you don't know Nick and Ilsa. What's the big deal? I just had to get out. Wasn't in the mood." _I so fucking don't need this._

"That's a load of crap Cormoran and you know it. You were perfectly fine when we arrived. Quite happy in fact."

"Well you know I can be a grumpy bastard, so let's just leave it at that, eh?"

"Something must have happened. Did you have a fight with someone?" probed Robin.

"No." Strike picked up a pen and played with it absent-mindedly.

"Is it something I did? Or said?" _I wish he would look at me._

"No, not really," mumbled Strike.

"Not really? That's not a "no", is it?" challenged Robin.

Strike pulled an irritated face. "Listen, you looked like you were enjoying yourself, so why didn't you just stay?"

"What do you mean by that?"

Strike unconsciously gritted his teeth as he said, "You were dancing about with that…..with your new admirer." _Oh Christ, why did I have to say that?_

Robin sighed heavily and moved away from the window. "Oh for Christ's sake. Is that what this is about? He is NOT my new admirer," she declared firmly.

"Looked like it to me. And everyone else. He was all over you like a rash."

"He wasn't!" returned Robin, almost in a shout.

At last, Strike raised his eyes to look at Robin with a certain flash of rage.

"He fucking was Robin. It was embarrassing." _I could easily have floored that little shit._

"Who for? Me? Or him? Or maybe you?" Robin gestured with her hand towards Strike, accusingly.

Strike got up from his desk, partly to try to end this painful conversation and also to calm his rising anger.

"I'm just saying. He had hands like a fucking octopus."

"Yeah, well…. I wasn't liking that myself, but I was just trying to get rid of him in my own way." Robin folded her arms again, flustered.

"Wasn't really working, was it?" retorted Strike, watching Robin's discomfort with just a little bit of pleasure. He started walking out to the outer office. _I need a drink._

"Look, I liked that song that was playing and I wanted to dance. There's nothing wrong with that. I didn't ask him to dance, he just appeared in front of me and started doing all that stuff. He was pretty pissed." Robin followed Strike to the kitchen, where he was looking in the fridge for a beer.

"If you didn't like it, why didn't you come and tell me? I would have dealt with him."

"You see," Robin paused, breathing deeply and making an effort not to get riled. "That's what I'm trying to say. I was dealing with it MY way. Trying to be discreet. Tactful. There are ways of handling these things so as not to cause any fuss or trouble. We were in the middle of Nick and Ilsa's house for fuck sake, and he works with Nick. I didn't want to cause a scene." _Bloody men!_

"He needed sorting out. He went well over the score."

Strike slammed the fridge door. There wasn't any beer.

"And what exactly were you planning to do Cormoran? You were looking pretty occupied the last time I saw you."

"Occupied? What with?" Strike's head whipped round to Robin in surprise.

"That….. blonde woman you were talking and laughing with." Robin walked away from Strike's scrutiny, feeling as though she was caught in headlights. She wandered to the far side of the room.

"Her?" said Strike in amazement. "She could talk for Britain. I couldn't get a word in edgeways even if I'd wanted to. I was just being polite."

Robin couldn't help but feel some triumph as she reacted, "She was touching you, I saw her." _She was a tart. She might as well have stripped naked in front of him._

"How could you see anything when lover boy was all over you?" Strike's rejoinder was so quick, Robin was temporarily stunned.

"I….. I came into the kitchen to refill my drink. Even Ilsa was raising her eyebrows at the two of you."

"Bollocks."

"It's not bollocks. You've just had a go at me for having an admirer and you were in the same position. You're not being fair Cormoran."

Strike quietly fizzed _. I am being a complete prick. Who started this fucking conversation anyway? I just can't be arsed with this stuff anymore. It's nearly like being with Char…._ Strike sighed and pressed his fingers to his eyes. ... _No, no it's not..._

"Well, just so's you know, there was no way I was hooking up with….her…..the blonde."

"Oh yeah, why not?" demanded Robin.

"Because Robin…..because…" Strike stopped and closed his eyes momentarily. _Fuck it, fuck all of it, fuck the whole bloody lot…._ "I happen to be in love with someone else, that's why."

"Oh!...Really?...Well, you kept that one quiet." _What the…..?_

"I don't have to tell you about my love life."

"No, no, you don't," replied Robin shaking her head vehemently. "Just thought that if you're so in love, I might have noticed it."

Silence fell.

Strike: _How do I tell her that it's her? Surely she knows. I've just revealed I'm jealous as fuck._

Robin: _Who the hell is he in love with? How could I have missed this? No bloody way._

More heavy, loaded, thick silence.

"So, what is she like, this new 'love of your life'?" Robin made the "in quotes" gesture to highlight the emphasis she had put on the words.

"You really wanna know?"

"Yeah, go on. Can't wait to hear about her." Robin's tone was challenging and provocative.

Strike walked back through to his room, with Robin scampering to follow. _I need to hear all of this, every last word._ Strike started to circle his room as he spoke.

"Ok. Well, first of all, she's stubborn and obstinate and can be very exasperating. She frustrates the bloody life out of me sometimes. One minute she can be quite belligerent, then the next she's being devious and you just know she's up to something."

"And she's cheeky."

"Then she'll start some fight and bring up some fucking petty thing and go on to nag me about stuff I'm already dealing with. She's like a dog with a bone, just doesn't know when to let up and leave something alone."

"Jesus," exclaimed Robin. _Jesus, that's…._

"She rarely accepts any help, insisting she can do everything herself."

"Really?" _That sounds a lot like…_

"She can't hold her drink and is usually pretty scooped after a few glasses of wine, at which point, she'll tell you that she loves you. And not just once, oh no, no, has to be several times. The only trouble is, you've got no idea if she means it or not."

"No…..no way." _Oh…..oh FUCK…._

"And d'you know, she'll sometimes call you in the middle of the night, for no reason at all, just because she's pissed."

"What do you see in this woman? She sounds like a right mad cow." Robin felt her stomach churning over and maybe not in a good way.

"Yeah, exactly _."_ Strike just stood and gazed piercingly at Robin as he said the words.

 _That's it. Laid my cards on the table. Not much more I can do now. Must get the fuck out of here._ Strike retrieved his coat and left the room swiftly, shouting back:

"I'm calling it a day. Remember to lock up when you leave, won't you? Night."

Robin now stood in a daze, baffled and taken aback. _He's just confessed that he loves me. He did, didn't he? So why has he just buggered off….again? I can't leave things like this. I can't, I won't._

Robin closed up the office and hesitated outside the locked door, debating with herself. _No, this has to be sorted._ She then took the stairs to the top floor and rapped on Strike's apartment door. It was opened quickly.

"What d'you want now?" asked Strike, rankled.

"I just need to double check something."

"Well do come in. Make yourself at home." The sarcasm was dripping out of Strike as he bowed slightly and waved Robin inside.

Robin entered the flat, but remained standing near the door.

"Well?"

"Did you say….that…..you're in love with this woman?" enquired Robin, gently.

Strike shrugged and put on his best puzzled expression. "I dunno. Is that what I said?"

"Yes, you did." _He did…._

"Must have been a slip of the tongue."

It was more than obvious that Strike was mega pissed off and in one of his truculent moods. _But so am I,_ thought Robin. _I'll show him._

"Did I mention by the way, I was never gonna hook up with the octopus. No, never gonna happen."

"No? Why not?" came the caustic response, as Strike raised an eyebrow.

"Cos I happen to be in love with someone else too," Robin declared in a tone of one-upmanship.

"Oh, what a coincidence! Kept that quiet, didn't you?" _This night just gets better and better….._

"Maybe."

"So, what's this man of your dreams like then?"

"You really wanna know? Because you might want to punch his lights out when you hear."

"Can't be that bad, surely?" _Christ, not another dickhead like Matthew….._

"Well, firstly, he's as stubborn as a mule, and as obstinate as they come. He's often quite gruff in his manner and can be sarcastic and cutting when the mood takes him. His humour is black to say the least!"

"He eats a load of crap, takeaways and beer mostly. And he drinks like a fish and it hardly has any effect on him."

"Is that right?" _Mmm, sounds a bit like….._

"He can boss me around like my views don't matter and then has the cheek to be way over the top protective, like he's my bodyguard."

"Don't believe it." _Yeah, sounds a lot like….._

"Then he becomes all quiet and a downright grumpy bugger and you never know what's wrong with him or if it's your fault."

"Never." _Fuck, definitely…._

"And d'you know the latest thing he's done? He only went and took me to a party and then left me there, all on my own."

Strike felt his stomach swirling and maybe not in a good way.

"Christ! What do you see in this guy? He sounds like a right pillock."

"Yeah, exactly."

Robin stared at Strike boldly, right into his deep green eyes, before quickly stating, "Well, I'll be off home then. Got lots of things to do tomorrow, y'know, like washing my hair and cleaning my room. Night." _Let's see how he likes it._

"Rob…in," Strike's plea fell on deaf ears. In a flash, Robin was out the door and the lock clicked into place as it slammed behind her.

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Strike took an enormous, huffy breath. _Fucking, fucking, fucking hell._ He could have gone after Robin, but what was the point when he would never catch up with her. Yet another chance gone begging. He very much wanted to aim a punch at something, such was his frustration, but he doubted if there was any surface in his flat which would absorb the hit without him also breaking his knuckles.

Instead, Strike reached into the fridge and took out a beer. _So fucking need this,_ he thought.

Strike sat on his sofa, silently stewing and drinking, then drinking and stewing some more. He then pulled out his phone and pressed a few buttons.

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When Robin left the flat, she had no idea what her plan was. She was really just playing Strike at his own game. She went down one flight of stairs and then started descending the next ones. However, she couldn't face going home. Not yet, not feeling totally shit about the weird evening which had just passed. Not feeling totally vexed with that obstinate donkey of a man sitting upstairs.

Robin paused on the stairs, analysing, and then turned back to re-enter the office. When she had filled the kettle with water, her phone rang. Cormoran….

"What is it?" asked Robin in irritation.

"I just wanna check something. This bloke, did I hear you say that you're in love with him?"

"I dunno. Is that what I said?" answered Robin sarcastically, exactly repeating Strike's earlier line.

"Yeah, you did actually." _She did…._

"Must have been a slip of the tongue." Robin pressed her handset, ending the call.

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 _For fuck sake….._

Strike bristled and seethed on his sofa a bit longer. After a few more gulps of beer, he grabbed his phone once again. He pressed Robin's number, but it rang out and went to voicemail. Strike spoke and left his message and then carelessly tossed the handset to the side, eventually bouncing onto the floor.

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Robin was walking back to her desk with a freshly made cup of tea when her phone rang again. Cormoran… _He can wait this time._

Robin started to sip her tea, but her eyes were constantly being drawn back to her mobile screen. _I'm not looking,_ she berated herself, as she pulled a file from her in-tray to form a distraction. However, this didn't last long as her phone beeped with news of a voicemail _. Probably just more carping and grief from the half-wit. I'm not listening to it. I'm not._

Her willpower lasted for about 30 seconds before Robin pressed the buttons to listen to the message. A familiar, deep, and slightly weary voice came out of the earpiece.

"Robin, in case you didn't get it earlier, I'm acting like a jealous prick because I love you. I FUCKING LOVE YOU!"

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Strike had risen to go in search of another beer from his fridge. His phone rang, buzzing impatiently on the floor. He knew he couldn't turn back in time to answer the call, so he continued with his mission. _She can wait._

By the time Strike returned to his seat, a notification of a voicemail had appeared on his mobile screen. He faltered. What if…? Christ, what if she…..? He sat for a few moments, tormenting himself with images of rejection and humiliation.

 _Fuck what ifs….._ Strike pressed the buttons to listen to the message. Robin's familiar voice came out of the earpiece, but thick with emotion and nearly in tears.

"Ditto Cormoran. In case you didn't get it earlier, I BLOODY LOVE YOU TOO! You pillock."

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Straight away, Strike rose and gathered his coat. He didn't even switch off the apartment lights before leaving and his hands were trembling as he tried to lock his door. As he stepped gingerly down the stairs, he used his phone to make another call.

"Hello?"

"Robin, where are you?"

"I'm right here." And she was, quite literally, as Robin had appeared in the office doorway to meet Strike as he descended the stairs.

Robin stood paralyzed against the doorframe, the evidence of tears still on her face. Strike had stalled just a yard or two away, fumbling to close down his phone. Their eyes were probing into each other, trying to fathom the depths of these newly revealed feelings. Finally, Strike spoke.

"Robin, can I ask you one last thing?"

"Ok," came the shaky reply.

"Erm... would it be in order... d'you think...for the pillock," Strike swallowed hard, "…...for the pillock to snog the mad cow… quite senseless? In the very near future?"

Robin couldn't help her eyes widening at the thought of being kissed senseless, an outward reflection of the currents now thundering through her body, underneath her skin, her heart pummelling against her ribs. She hastily looked down at the floor in an attempt to conceal her sharp intake of breath.

"Erm ….. yeah …..," Robin answered nervously, "…can't see anything wrong with that….," she said as normally as a quivering person could.

Strike started inching towards her and Robin unconsciously started shuffling backwards, not in any fear, but because her body's reactions were taking on a life of their own.

"Don't think there would be any objections…," added Robin, mindlessly continuing her response, but struggling to prepare herself for what was inevitably coming.

Strike advanced some more, never taking his eyes from Robin, throwing his coat towards the sofa and closing the office door. Robin had come to an abrupt halt, up against the solid edge of her desk, putting her hands out thereon to steady herself. Then Strike was right before her, large, determined, intense, powerful, utterly irresistible…

Robin had started to mutter the last of her extended sentence, "….No objections at all, actu…," but Strike swallowed the last of her words. His lips trapped hers decisively and his hand came up instinctively to grasp the back of Robin's head, anchoring her to him, as he gradually deepened his insistent and lustful exploration of her mouth and body.

The kiss went on forever, neither party wishing to disengage from this divine pursuit. Their hunger and desire was too potent to withstand. Their escalating arousal was building in magnitude until it was almost too overwhelming to contain. They both knew they had to pause, otherwise...

After some time, the pair collapsed against each other, gasping and panting for air. Robin held tightly around Strike's chest, never wanting to let go. Strike engulfed Robin in his arms, whilst stroking the soft, golden hair he had admired and loved for months and years.

When his breathing and voice returned, Strike asked:

"Robin, you don't REALLY need to be home for the cleaning tomorrow, do you?"

"Yes, it's really urgent."

Strike burst out laughing. "No! No, what's really urgent is that you come upstairs with me. Right now, Miss Ellacott."

Robin sighed heavily as if annoyed, but then looked up at Strike and smiled impishly. "Ok Mr Strike, if you insist."

"Yes, I most certainly do insist."

Strike's mouth came bearing down on Robin's once again, this time for a slow and sensual probing with lips, tongues and hands. Upstairs might have to wait...

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End file.
